In the Still of the Night
by Lavender and Hay
Summary: Patrienne fic. Dr. Turner calls around to Nonnatus House one evening and ends up talking to Sister Julienne. And dancing with her...
1. Chapter 1

**Ok, so this is a Patrienne story from my strange Patrienne AU where Dr. Turner and Sister Bernadette are nothing more than friends. Partly writing this because someone said they missed Patrienne, partly writing because I was told never to write them again and I am asserting my right to write whatever I like. I hope you like it. The song they're listening to is "In the Still of the Nite" by The Five Satins, a very good song which I have been listening to all day.**

They were both in the medical room of Nonnatus House, when the sound of a gramophone reached their ears. He stood, leaning in the doorway smoking a cigarette as she operated the hot water bath, sterilising the equipment for him to take away. They had been waiting in companionable silence for the task to be done. She turned her head in his direction, smiling a little apologetically.

"We've become rather used to music at this time of the evening," she explained, "They used to only play it in their rooms, but Sister Monica Joan said she enjoyed it and wanted to join in so Nurse Franklin has been kind enough to keep her gramophone in the sitting room."

"I don't mind," he replied, "It's rather nice. It's The Five Satins, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is," she confirmed, and threw him another ironic smile a moment later, "My knowledge of contemporary music has widened rather rapidly."

He smiled in return before extinguishing his cigarette and putting it in the bin.

"I'm sorry to bother you like this, Sister," he told her, not for the first time since he'd arrived.

"No matter," she told him, quite genuinely "You need your equipment to be in a fit state to work; as far as I can see you have no option but to bring it to us in your present situation. I quite understand."

He ran his hand through his hair in agitation, but gave her a gracious smile nonetheless.

"Truth be to told, Doctor," she continued quietly, her eyes turning back to her task, "I'm rather grateful for the chance to escape the hullabaloo. The girls get rather spirited at this time of year, and when there's music on; and she hasn't said anything yet, but I think it rather agitates Sister Evangelina."

He gave a short laugh.

"I don't think you'll have to wait very long before she does say," he remarked, "Knowing Sister Evangelina."

"Quite," she agreed, with a slightly rueful laugh of her own, "That's why I'm pleased to be hidden away in here."

Increasingly, there was something rather hollow in his laugh this time. She glanced at him over her shoulder and saw that he was watching the floor. The smile had as good as vanished from his face.

"Doctor?" she asked him, "Are you quite alright?"

His gaze returned to her quickly, flitting upwards from the floor.

"Of course, Sister," he told her.

His voice was unconvincing. She looked at him steadily, her hands still occupied with sterilizing the equipment, waiting for him to tell her what was wrong. He gave a sigh, acknowledging his defeat.

"It's just that I rather envy you your hullabaloo," he told her, "Our house is rather on the quite side this year."

"Oh yes, of course," she murmured softly, "I'm sorry, I didn't think."

"You weren't to know," he reassured her gently.

"Yes, but even so," she started to insist, "I should have-..." 

She should have spoken more carefully. Of course the Turner household would be on the quiet side this year. It had not been a year since Sarah Turner had passed away. This was one of the rare occasions when Sister Julienne could have happily kicked herself.

"I'm sorry," she told him, a little bluntly, still feeling foolish.

"It's alright, Sister," he told her, matching her curtness with his gentleness.

She let out a long sigh, moving on to the test tubes.

"How is Timothy getting along?" she asked him. Now that they had spoken of it, the issue was now unavoidable.

"He's doing as well as I would have hoped," he replied, "But he's very quiet. He was quiet anyway, even before-... But now his teacher says he's withdrawn at school and he doesn't get excited about Cubs any more like he used to."

"He's had a lot to bear," she remarked sadly, "But is he getting better as opposed to worse?" she asked, hoping to find a positive note amongst this grim picture.

"I'm not even sure," he told her honestly, and her heart sank just a touch before he continued, "It just seems that he's reached some sort of a deadlock."

There was silence for a moment, except for the music coming from the sitting room.

"I might as well say," she told him after a second's thought, "As seen as I seem determined to put my foot in it this evening; might that not be just as true of you as it is of him?" she asked.

He did look very surprised for a moment at her words, but a second later his expression changed to a defeated, worn-out smile that did not reach his eyes.

"I didn't say that it wasn't," he reminded her.

She could not argue with that.

The music mingled in their silence for a moment as their eyes met. She could not quite explain the depth of the pity she felt for this man in those moments. Terribly sad things happened to perfectly good people every single day in Poplar, she of all people was well appraised of this fact. But none quite affected her like this did; his sadness, his seeming complete defeat. She had never seen him so openly wounded before in all the months since his wife's death, and wondered what it was that made him show it to her now. Perhaps it was the music. Perhaps they were both tired.

"You know we are all here for you, Doctor?" she asked him gently, "Whenever you need us."

His smile seemed rather more genuine then.

"Thank you, Sister," he replied, "I do."

She turned back to the equipment, finished and clean now, and put it all into a drawstring bag, ready for him to take away.

"I'm sorry for taking up your time," he told her again.

"Haven't I told you, you aren't taking up my time," she insisted, putting the bag down on the bench beside her, and turning to face him, looking at him rather thoroughly.

Again, he seemed rather taken aback by her manner- her boldness, maybe- and that was what gave her the courage to say:

"Do you like The Five Satins, Doctor?"

"What?- Yes, I suppose so."

"Then will you dance with me?"

That really had him taken aback, so much so that he could not even blurt out in surprise. The look on his face was actually rather priceless, and she laughed properly for the first time that evening. Her mirth made him smile too, and she saw his shoulders, which had been slightly tensed, relax a little.

"You said you envied me some hullabaloo. Well, with my dancing I can guarantee you some of that at the very least."

He laughed of his own accord this time, the sound resonating comfortingly around the room. She stepped towards him a little.

"Don't worry, Doctor, it is permitted," she told him, smiling.

He smiled too at that.

"Is it?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, yes," she told him breezily, trying to ignore the way her heart was suddenly beating rapidly.

She stretched her hand out to him. He took it.

It was awkward and clumsy at first, but it did not bother either of them much. They persevered, and moments later it seemed neither of them noticed if their feet fumbled a little or if they turned a little too enthusiastically. His eyes met hers and they smiled at each other. The music seemed loud enough to be in the room with them, and the whole thing was comforting. He held her with courteous gentleness, but still their closeness was... comforting. And disconcerting. She put the thought out of her mind; she was only happy that she had made him happy, or at least cheered him up, by this rather extraordinary request. He was humming along to the song. It was the same song, playing over and over again.

"Thank you, Sister," he murmured to her, moments later.

They were dancing more slowly now. She did not realise that she had rested her head on his shoulder until she lifted it back up, to find him looking at her closely. The look in his eyes was dark, intensely so.

She wanted to reply that it was quite alright, but her voice would not work. She wondered what was wrong. Wondered what the strange fraught feeling rising in her chest was.

"Are you alright?" he asked her.

"I-..."

Still she could not speak. But she thought her eyes might be giving away more than her voice ever could, simply because her brain did not know the words for this. After what seemed like an eternity of looking at each other- they were barely dancing any more- his face became closer to hers- she could not tell who it was who was moving- and their lips met. He planted a gentle kiss on her lips; chaste in action but not in feeling. And she responded.

A second later- maybe a little longer, but as soon as she realised what was happening, at any rate- she broke away in astonishment. His arms released her straight away. They stood at a distance, looking at each other in complete shock. She raised a hand to her mouth, unable to believe what had just happened.

"I think I ought to go," he told her.

"You don't have to," she told him, "I will retire to my cell and you may stay with-..." 

"I know I don't have to go," he cut across her, "But really, I think I ought to."

She nodded.

"Very well. If you wish."

He looked at her very seriously, ready to go.

"I'm so sorry, Sister," he told her.

"Don't apologise," she told him, "It's not your- Your instruments! You've forgotten them!"

In his haste he had been about to go without taking his equipment with him. He coloured a little.

"Oh, yes. Thank you, Sister."

He picked them up hurriedly from where they stood on the bench, near to her. Their eyes met again and parted quickly.

"I'll go," he told her swiftly.

She did not protest again.

**Please review if you have the time. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Another one for my friend. :) I know Patrienne isn't everyone's cup of tea, which is why it means a lot when you review anyway. Thanks!**

She did not stop thinking about it. Not only had he kissed her, but she had kissed him back. She hadn't meant to, she hadn't given it so much as a thought at the time. She had just done so. Well, her punishment for that was that it seemed to be perpetually on her mind now. She could not for the life of her remember how they had gone from dancing, just innocently touching each other, two friends, to the intense look he had given her before their lips met. Nothing she thought of, no memory or previous experience, could account for it. Nothing that had ever happened between them before could have logically led to this. That should have been a startling realisation, but she was coming to realise that this...whatever this was, was anything but logical.

She would do this, for minutes at end- mainly at night, lying alone and silent in her cell- she would try to fathom what had happened, and then all of a sudden the attempts at an analytic process in her mind would just dissolve and she would just _remember _what had happened. She would dwell on the gentle touches of lip on lip, the way in which his hands, holding her body, held her just a little closer as their mouths touched. Sometimes the recollections were so absorbing that she drifted off to sleep like that, and be shaken when she found herself alone, cold and longing in the morning.

She couldn't have felt more ashamed of herself if she tried. She did not know what had come over her; it was madness, surely. But just as surely, she knew that she could not stop. And she was fairly sure that she did not want to stop. She begged that God would forgive her, but as she prayed part of her mind was begging for... something else. She didn't know what. Something more.

It was with a heavy heart that she set out to the weekly antenatal clinic. That was the only time when she knew she was guaranteed to see him, they were both bound to be there. She wanted to see him, but was also frightened by the idea. She had not seen him alone since the evening in the medical room, and had scarcely spoken to him since either.

Most unusually, she was late, having been occupied with a home-visit that had overrun just before that. She was late, and he was early: he was already there when she arrived. Most unusual. Almost as soon as she walked in she met his eyes. He was standing in the kitchen, and seemed to have been watching the hall door, maybe awaiting her arrival. She paused for a moment at the foot of the steps. He held her gaze and gave her a nervous half-smile. She returned it just as apprehensively; and then they both moved off, taking up their respective tasks at the time. He was assisting the nurses in the cubicles and she did not see him again for a long while.

She did not see him, in fact, until the end of the clinic. And then, all at once, for the first time since the evening in the medical room, she was seeing him alone. Everyone else had dispersed back to Nonnatus House, leaving them to finish putting their equipment away.

They both seemed to notice that they were alone at the same time as one another. They exchanged another nervous smile, continuing to pack their bags.

He cleared his throat loudly and awkwardly.

"Are you alright, Sister?" he asked her at last.

"Yes, thank you," she replied lightly, "Quite alright." 

"I meant-..."

"I know what you meant, Doctor," she replied, a little sharply, but still as gently as she could manage, "I'm alright," she assured him.

There was a pause. He looked for a moment as if he did not know what to say.

"I'm sorry," he told her again, "Most sincerely."

"I have no doubt of that," she replied levelly, managing to give him a kindly smile, but still keeping her eyes downcast.

It was a mistake when she lifted them, met his eyes for a moment. Saw the anguish there, the embarrassment and shame.

"Really, Doctor. There's no need to be-..."

"There's every need," he told her firmly, his voice suddenly a lot harsher than it had been moments ago, he sounded quite tormented, "Sister, you don't know-... I can't stop thinking about you," he confessed at last, sounding almost relieved to be able to say it aloud, "What you said. What we did."

She was so taken aback that she couldn't even make a joke about how surely her dancing couldn't have been that memorably bad.

He looked down at his hands.

"I'm sorry, Sister, I shouldn't have told you that," he chastised himself, "That was thoughtless of me."

"No, Doctor," she murmured, "It was very thoughtful of you," an ironic smile passed over her lips, despite the seriousness of the moment, "You were talking about thought, after all."

He looked at her, perplexed for a moment. Then an incredulous smile broke out on his face too. He grinned at her almost stupidly. She felt herself smile quite genuinely too. She met his eyes for a second and her smile widened. What a ridiculous thing to say.

And then it hit her, as she stood there watching him smile. An intense longing, an aching for him that threatened to swallow her up. She almost staggered, the smile fading from her lips. He saw, and looked puzzled, concerned. She looked him in the face.

"I can't stop thinking about you either," she admitted in little more than a whisper, "God forgive me."

"Sister-..." he began, but she turned away.

"Really, I must go," she told him quickly, hurrying past him and out of the kitchen, "I've held you up enough already."

"You haven't held me up," he told her retreating back rather helplessly. "Sister!" he called as she headed towards the door of the hall.

She paused for a second, and then turned to look at him, her eyebrow raised in her usual expression of questioning- except that this time it was mainly bravado.

"If you did-... think of me again," he finished awkwardly, "You know which evening Timothy's at Cubs. I am... usually at home on Tuesdays," he told her.

She did not know what to say, so after a moment of trying and failing to think, she turned and continued her way up the stairs and out of the hall. On different side of the door, they exhaled deeply, at the same time.

**Please review if you have the time. **


	3. Chapter 3

**I'm really very nervous about this chapter. I'd love to know what you think. **

It was raining hard on Tuesday evening. She peddled out of Leyland Street with great apprehension; concentrating solely on moving her feet and not falling off her bike. She thought that if she did not, her hands would begin to shake on the handlebars. Cycling was more difficult in the rain, and there was plenty to keep her mind occupied, other than what awaited her at Kenilworth Row. It did not do to think about it, otherwise she knew she would turn around and go home. It was her who was seeking him out this time- there was no denying that- but she could not explain to herself why, only that she felt an absolute compulsion to do so.

The rain came down particularly heavily as she turned the corner of the street in question. As she got closer to number nineteen she saw that the car was in the drive. He was at home. She had seen Timothy arrive a little early at the church hall for Cubs.

She rested her bicycle up against the wall of the house, taking extra care to make sure it was safe; partly so as not to attract attention to herself if it fell over, partly to give herself a little more time to assuage her racing nerves and her hammering heart. But it was raining, she could not linger out here forever. More easily than she had expected to do so, she raised her hand and knocked on the door, albeit timidly.

It seemed an eternity before he answered, though her brain knew that it was not more than a few seconds. He did seem extremely surprised to see her, but not unpleasantly so. They both stood there on the threshold for a long moment, looking at one another.

"Sister," he said at last, snapping back to his senses and realising that she was standing out in the rain, "Come in. You must be soaked."

"A little," she replied, brushing the worst off her veil and loosening her raincoat, "Not badly."

"Here, let me take that," he moved hastily to take her coat from her, shaking the wet off and hanging it up on a peg behind her.

"Thank you, Doctor," she told him, smoothing her habit nervously.

"Will you let me make you some tea?" he asked.

"That would be welcome," she replied.

"Please, go through into the sitting room," he told her, "Sit down and I will bring your tea." 

His fussing over her gave her a little more time, eased her nerves a little. She settled rather gratefully onto the comfortable brown settee near the fire, wiping the away the rain that had settled on her brow with one hand as she did so.

"Here you are, Sister," he told her, handing her the tea and bringing another mug for himself.

"Thank you," she took it from him and sipped. It was warm and soothing.

He sat down on the settee too, though a very proper distance away from her. They settled into an uneasy silence. The initial activity of him seeing that she was recovered from her journey in the rain had given them time, but it had not broken the ice by any means. She did not have to say anything to him. The mere fact that she was here, that she had come at his suggestion spoke volumes.

They both sipped their tea in silence, watching the leaping flames in the grate. Despite the warmth of the tea and the room she shivered, just for a second. His eyes flitted towards her, but still neither of them spoke.

Eventually, he put his tea down on the table beside the settee, resting his hands patiently, but also a little awkwardly, on his knees.

"Sister..." he spoke softly, but after addressing her, he did not seem to know how to go on.

She had turned to him, given him an attentive smile to show that she was listening. When he did not go on, the smile slipped wearily away from her face. They were left looking at one another. The look in his eyes changed as the seconds wore on. Her cheeks coloured furiously, she had seen that look before, many times, though it had seldom been directed at her. She bit her lip furiously, and looked away. By the time she looked at him again, he looked deeply embarrassed.

"Oh, this is absurd!" she said at last, "I'm sorry, Doctor. I shouldn't have come."

"No," he replied quickly, his voice very firm but at the same time almost impetuous, "No," he repeated a second later in a much more check tone, "You don't have to. I like having you here. Really."

She gave a heavy sigh.

"There's so much I want to say to you," she told him, rather desperately, willing him to understand, "That's why I came here, though I do realise I've done nothing but put you to trouble and made you feel uncomfortable. I have, so don't argue," she told him, pretending sternness when he was about to protest, "There's so much I want to say," she told him again, her voice weakening with confusion, "But I don't know how to. I've thought about it so much. I've thought about everything. But still there aren't any words there. How can that happen?" she asked, genuinely puzzled by the matter.

His hands were clasped. He leant forwards a little, intently, and she could almost hear the workings of his logical mind approaching the problem.

"What have you thought exactly?" he asked her, "Just say what you thought, exactly, for instance, what images went through your mind and then maybe the words will come," he suggested.

She paused for a second, apprehensive about the whole notion. Their eyes met and he gave her a nervously encouraging smile. She did her best to return it.

"I thought about the conversation we had," she told him slowly, "I thought about... dancing with you; why on earth I asked you to do that."

"Why did you?" he asked curiously.

"I don't know!" she replied, exasperated, "I just... I wanted to make you smile," she felt her face flush again as she formed her next thought, but still went on, a little more quietly, "I wanted to be close to you."

He was quiet.

Flustered now, she went on.

"I thought about kissing you. Being held by you. What it was like."

He did not say anything in reply. Her heart was beating painfully hard, rising in her chest, almost constricting her throat. She almost wondered for a second if she was about to have some sort of nervous attack, but she breathed deeply and the feeling eased after a few moments. He was watching her intently, and look of concern on his face.

"What was it like?" he pressed slowly, a little nervously, when she did not go on.

"Beautiful," she replied quietly, and then a little more harshly, "And terrible."

They exchanged a brief, nervous smile, each knowing what she meant and marvelling for a second at how badly she had expressed it.

"Like your dancing," he told her softly, after a moment.

She gave a tiny, nervous laugh.

"If you like," she agreed.

Their smiles faded once more as they looked at each other again. All she could feel now was a yearning, a sickly, desperate yearning to be closer to him. She did not know what to do. She wondered if he could feel it too. She wanted to be closer to him, and she wanted-... she wanted to kiss him again.

"Sister-..." he said, his voice deeper and softer.

She stood up quickly.

"I should go. I shouldn't have come," she told him, "I'm so sorry."

She left the room without waiting for him, hurrying towards the front door and out into the street. It was raining even harder now. She took quick impulsive steps down the path of the small garden, bypassing her bicycle and suddenly stopping, breathing heavily, in the middle of the downpour. She stared out into the greyness; the bleak, wet evening. She felt truly wretched, and every fibre of her being ached for him. She could not bear to stay but nor could she bear to leave. Leaving was worse.

"Sister," suddenly she heard his voice behind her, "Sister, you've forgotten your coat! You'll get soaked!"

She turned back towards the house, seeing him standing in the doorway. His eyes were alive with concern for her. She wanted to go back, she wanted to be close to him.

Taking the same quick steps back up the path, she crossed the threshold again and allowed him to shut the door tightly behind her. They stared at each other for long seconds.

"I'm sorry," she murmured again, "I don't know what came over me."

"It's alright," he replied softly, "Don't think twice about it."

They continued to look at each other, both breathing heavily.

"You're shaking," he told her a moment later.

"I'm not surprised," she answered.

A smile flitted across his lips at that reply.

"Doctor, I-... I don't what to say," she finished at last.

"Don't say anything," he replied at last, "Just wait one moment. If you'll let me."

He touched her cheek gently. She nodded hesitantly against his hand.

And he sank his lips down to her forehead, his mouth moving over her skin, kissing, mouthing away the tiny drops of rain that had rested on her forehead. She gasped in surprise and with the heat, the tenderness of his action and the feeling it suddenly aroused in her. Before she knew what she was doing, she had wrapped her arms around him, and he had his around hers, embracing her; pushing her back against the front door as his lips moved down over hers and latched onto hers, open and full of the most delicious heat she could have imagined. She closed her eyes and moaned against his mouth. She wanted to forget the world. The whole world except him.

**Please review if you have the time.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you so much for your reviews, they mean such a lot. Please note, the rating has changed; I'm not sure if it's a strong T or a weak M, but I'm erring on the side of the T.**

Their lips parted and they broke apart, his hands still holding gently onto her shoulders. She was flustered, bewildered; they both were. But their arms did not leave one another's bodies. They looked at each other, breathing heavily.

"Sister, you're soaking," he told her, squeezing his hands gently on the wet shoulders of her robe, illustrating what he said, "You must be freezing. You're going to catch a chill. You can-... Oh, no you can't," he stopped himself suddenly, looking abashed at his own stupidity, "I was going to say that you could borrow some of Sarah's old clothes to go home in, but you-... can't," he finished slowly, watching her face as a mixture of amusement and shock played out gently across it.

"You're very kind," she told him, her head bowed slightly, "But I-..."

"Your veil is wet through," he told her, placing his hand gently on the top of her head, "You have to take it off or you'll catch your death."

It was true, within a few short moments in the downpour she had been soaked through. She was about to protest that people didn't die from getting their head wet any more- and he was very well aware of that- but she had no voice.

"Please," he told her gently, "Just go and lock yourself in the bathroom, and you can borrow some clothes and just sit in there until your habit and veil are dry and you can go home. I won't look at you. By then it might have stopped raining."

It seemed quite a reasonable, and very kind, proposal and she could not think why she did not immediately accept. He was looking at her, waiting for a reply. They were still both very close to the front door; she resting lightly back against it but he had taken a small step away so as not to make her feel any more uncomfortable. Still, the awareness of their proximity was palpable.

"Thank you, Doctor," she told him, her voice trembling, the memory of their recent kiss still playing on her mind, "But that won't be necessary."

She did not know what made her do it. Perhaps it was the kiss. Perhaps it was the way he was closely watching her, his eyes widening a touch in confusion at what she said. Her motives were unclear but her action, when she did it, was blatant, brazen, almost a little wanton. Her hand trembled as she raised it to her head- her eyes never leaving his face- and removed her veil in front of him. Something was possessing her body, disconnecting it from her brain. She could feel her body pounding in her chest as he carefully raised his hands to her slightly damp hair, making it tumble down out of its pins and over her shoulders. She felt as though she might as well be standing there before him naked.

When she spoke her voice was different.

"I don't know what I'm feeling," she told him, her heart in her mouth, "I've never felt like this before."

He seemed speechless. He gave a long and shallow breath. His fingertips gently brushed the edge of her ear as he tucked her hair behind it. His hand cupped her cheek, so softly. And their lips sank back together, kissing urgently, like she had never kissed before. She felt his tongue tracing her lips and gasped, allowing him access to her mouth, groaning at the feeling, the intimacy with which he was exploring her.

And then they were in his bedroom. She couldn't remember going there, or being lead. She couldn't remember choosing to go there but she certainly couldn't remember being forced to either.

She just kept kissing him; she did not know what else to do, and didn't want to do anything else. Kept kissing as he removed her habit and his shirt. Kept kissing as they fell back onto the bed together. Kept kissing so she didn't have to think about how unattractive she must look in her old-fashioned underclothes. Kept kissing right up until the moment when she felt his hand on her hip, slipping under the waistband of her underwear.

She gasped her lips away from him. Their faces parted, and their eyes met. She felt like he was staring into her soul, she did not know what to do; she thought she felt herself quiver just from the way he was looking at her. He was watching her closely.

"Can I touch you?" he asked quietly.

She nodded silently. She felt his fingertips brush her intimately and moaned at the feeling, closing her eyes tightly, her hand falling back, pushing herself closer to his hand. His other hand touched her breast gently through her underclothes and with the tender touch of his lips on hers she thought surely this is what heaven was like. The thought almost caused her heart to convulse within her and she gave something pitched between a gasp and a sob, rocking violently against his touch. He looked alarmed, and withdrew his touch a little, leaning back.

"Are you alright?" he asked her, "We can stop."

She shook her head. Her heart was hammering, she was blinded by lust; even the slight withdrawal of his hand felt like the most inexpressible torment. She latched her lips back on his, kissing him again, fervently. He touched her again and she sighed in contentment.

She had known this man for years. He was being so kind and careful with her. She wanted very much to weep with the potency of sorrow and pleasure that welled up in her chest all at once. And then suddenly she could not think any more, she could not want any more because she felt the most blinding pleasure spreading from where he touched her at her centre, filling her whole body. She knew she was shaking, and crying out, but she could not help it, she could not stop it. She clung closely to him burying her face in his bare chest as her hips rocked uncontrollably.

When she regained her senses, she found herself lying very close to him, her face still pressed in his chest, her arms clinging to his body.

"I'm sorry," she murmured softly.

"What are you sorry for?" he asked incredulously, cupping her face gently with both of his hands, looking into her eyes, "You have no need to be sorry. That's what's supposed to happen," he added softly, a smile playing on his lips.

She could not help but smile a little, and gave a little laugh.

"Thank you," she told him after a moment, altogether seriously.

He kissed her soundly.

"Well, we'd better see about getting your clothes dried," he told her, kissing her forehead softly, getting up from where he lay beside her.

She was quite taken aback to say the least.

"Patrick," she spoke his Christian name for the first time softly, with confusion.

He turned back to her.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

"Well-..." she did not quite know how to say it, she did not know why on earth she was saying it, _she wasn't supposed to be saying it_, but she could not help it, "I had thought we were going to-..."

He looked back at her. There was silence. He sat down on the foot of the bed.

"Well, I didn't think you'd want-..."

She smiled a little, feeling slightly incredulous herself now.

"That would seem a slightly inconsistent with what you've just done," she pointed out, raising her eyebrow just a fraction.

"I didn't want to take anything from you," he told her after a moment, "I only wanted to-... thank you, I suppose. But more than that, I wanted to... pleasure you, because the way I've been thinking about you, I can hardly describe-... I don't know-..." 

She moved towards him, stopping his lips with a kiss.

"_I _know," she told him gently, "I know, because that is exactly what I've been-... thinking, feeling for you too."

There was a pause.

"What makes you think I can just take from you either?"

**Please review if you have the time. I'll let you into a secret: I have no idea what's going to happen next.**


	5. Chapter 5

**It's probably an M by now. Thank you so much for your reviews. **

He stared at her quietly for a few seconds, his face wearing a look of utter bewilderment. Then he stooped down and quickly picked up her habit from where it had been discarded on the carpet, straightening it out between his hands and putting it gently on the radiator. She lay back on the bed, her body still relaxed and weak, watching his every move. Then he turned back towards her, still standing by the radiator, at the wall.

"I can't believe you," he said at last, his voice amply conveying his disbelief.

"Why?" she asked, taken aback and a little confused, "What I said was perfectly true, I-..."

"No," he stopped her quickly, crossing the room in a few strides, lying down on the bed beside her, looking at her carefully, "That isn't what I meant. What I meant was you're unbelievable. You're incredible. And," he added cautiously, "I suppose I also meant, I can't believe that you're suggesting …what I think you are. I never thought it would-..."

Her look silenced him.

"Neither did I," she told him honestly, "I never thought this would happen in a thousand years. I'm still having trouble believing it's real."

She couldn't look into his eyes any more, they were so deep and dark and overwhelming. They prevented her from thinking straight. Her eyes fell down towards the bed, looking at the pattern on the bedspread, trying to think of what she could say next. She heard his voice from slightly above, close to her forehead.

"Why are you here?" he asked at last. She noticed a slight pause in his voice; he did not know how to address her now that he could not call her Sister.

There was a long silence.

"Because I've loved you for years," she told the bedspread, "As my friend. And I couldn't bear to think of your loneliness. And," she added, her voice seeming to grow more and more quiet, like there was a lump rising in her throat, "When you kissed me, I-... I started to think about us together, like this," she admitted, "And I couldn't stop. The way I've been feeling recently, about you, it's been like a pain that's always there. I've never felt like that for anyone before."

He did not say anything for a long time, taking in her words and the sight of her. She was unaccustomed to thinking about what she looked like; she thought she must be quite an eyesore here with her ruffled, untidy hair and her almost anachronistic undergarments.

"And what about-..." he did not seem to be able to find the words for what he wanted to ask her.

"What?" she pressed.

"Your... your habit," he settled on after another moment's thought.

"Oh, I see," she thought for a moment, "Wasn't my habit an issue before you brought me up to your bed?" she asked him pointedly a second later.

"This would be different to that," he insisted, "It would be something-... I wasn't exactly thinking very clearly before," he added, his voice the very height of honestly and humility, "I was only thinking of you, and how beautiful you are."

"Patrick," she murmured softly, lifting hr head to look in his eyes, brushing her hand against his face.

"And at the same time," he added, his voice exasperated now, "I was thinking of you, but I was doing it selfishly. I was thinking of your beauty, and not of how hard this was going to be for you. Much harder than for me."

She looked clearly into his eyes.

"You hardly forced me," she reminded him, gently.

But still, she thought, she could not ever remember making the decision to-... It wasn't him that was forcing her by any means. But perhaps something else was, some force, some-... want. She truly did not know, except to say that what she did now did not seem to stem from the same place that usually guided her actions.

They looked at each other for long moments. When she spoke again, her voice shook a little.

"I never thought I'd do this," she admitted, "I never once imagined that I would ever break-..." she could not finish, she thought she was going to cry, "But if it did happen, it had to be with you."

"It doesn't have to happen," he told her gently, his fingers soothing up and down the side of her arm, "Nothing has to happen. I won't do anything you don't want me to."

"I want to say I don't want it to," she told him, her voice shaking, her eyes filling with tears, "But I can't. It isn't true. I want... this. I want you."

He remained still, watching her every movement.

"Will you regret this tomorrow morning?" he asked very levelly.

"I don't know," she replied, "There's always a chance that we'll live to regret everything we ever do."

His silence told her that he could not fault her logic.

"I believe," she told him slowly, "That the Lord is happiest when we base our actions on love."

"Even if we live to regret them?"

"Even then," she agreed.

She swallowed hard. That was the only thought in her mind now; love, love, love, the Lord is happiest when we base our actions on love. And she thought of Patrick too, his desperate need for love. He would never be so bold as to ask for it outright.

She touched his chest, resting her hand there lightly. His heartbeat almost made an impression on hr hand it was so strong. Their lips met, and they kissed passionately, their arms wrapping tightly around each other. He rolled her onto her back so she lay under him. His hands moved up her body, tangling in her hair as their kiss deepened and he explored her mouth with his tongue.

He undid hooks, and pulled back the layer of her undergarments, exposing her skin to him. Her heart beat hard and a lump of anxiety seemed to form in her chest, but he kissed it away, sinking his lips to her skin with a near-reverence that she found overwhelming. His lips traced downwards, over her collarbone, down between her breasts. He kissed each breast and touched her centre again, making her moan. He was so tender, so careful with her, as if a sharper movement could break her. She knew it wouldn't, but felt it would. She felt so fragile, but so well cared for. He was almost making her feel beautiful with his mouth, lapping gently at her breasts. She writhed with pleasure. She had never felt anything like this before.

She had been telling the truth when she said she loved him. But she hadn't known that he would be able to make her feel like this. She didn't think anyone would have been able to make her feel like this. In fact, she had forsworn this feeling. But she had not forsworn love, and that was what she felt now, that was what was at the root. Was she in love with him? She truly did not know. But she loved him, and she loved this and-...

Carefully, he sank a finger inside her. She moaned in surprise and pleasure, raising herself up a little from the bed.

"Am I hurting you?" he asked, alarmed.

"No," she more groaned it than said it. She pulled his mouth back to hers, kissing him.

He kept kissing her, moving his finger inside her, making her feel the most devastating pleasure she could have imagined.

"Patrick," she moaned against his mouth, "I can't take any more. You have to-..."

He kissed her once more. He understood. She felt him leave her for a second, removing his trousers.

And then he was back with her, and he was inside her, filling her. She groaned, burying her face in his shoulder. He remained still for as long as he could, waiting for her.

"I'm alright," she gasped, "I'm alright. Please, Patrick."

She had thought him touching her was like heaven. But she had been wrong, this was; him moving inside her. He was going as slowly as he could, but she raised her hips to meet his, spurring him on.

When it was over they lay there, tangled together, both panting for breath. He kissed her forehead, and kept his arms wrapped tightly around her. Her ragged breathing changed somehow into a sigh. She really did not know what she was going to do. She felt-... She couldn't tell what she felt; she felt everything, so strongly. Everything was so raw. His arms held her protectively, his fingers soothing up and down her back.

She did not know what she could say except, "Thank you."

"You're welcome, my darling," he replied quietly, "Thank you."

**Please review if you have the time. **


	6. Chapter 6

**Thank you so much for all your reviews and responses during this, it's been really great. One last one for my friend. : )**

They were silent for a long time after that. They lay holding each other, their bodies pressed together. It was an uneasy and intimate silence, punctuated occasionally by hitched breathing and poorly concealed sighs. She wished her heart would calm down and stop racing; it was as if it was rising in her chest, expanding, trying to get out. Her whole chest was full of her heart. She rested her forehead against Patrick's chest, closing her eyes tightly.

She felt his voice against her temple as its gentle sound filled her ears.

"Do you want to take a bath?" he asked, "Will you feel better if you have a wash?"

"I don't know," she replied hollowly, raising her head. They looked at each other for a moment, and it was too much for her. "I haven't got time," she told him, catching sight of the alarm clock on his bedside table, "I'll have a bath when I get back to Nonnatus. Anyway, what would you tell Timothy when he got home and wanted to know why Sister Julienne was having a bath?"

"Oh, Lord!" he exclaimed, raising his hand to his brow, looking frantically around at the alarm clock too.

"What?" she asked, alarmed.

"Timothy," he told her, "I have to pick him up!"

"Then you must go," she told him, "He'll be waiting for you. He'll be worried. Or very annoyed."

"Probably the latter, I think," Patrick replied, ruefully, sitting up in bed, looking down at where she still lay. "I don't want to leave you," he confessed, "It would feel, well, exceptionally rude for one thing."

"I think we've bypassed normal etiquette," she replied dryly, then, a second later, "Go. Really, I don't mind in the least. Go for your son, I can see myself out."

He looked uneasy, starting to get up.

"It's simple," he told her after a moment, sitting back down, "Put your clothes on and come with me. I'll give you a lift."

"Really, Doctor, there's no need." 

"Nonsense," he told her, noticing her sudden incongruous formality and bristling just a touch at it, "I'm as good as going to Nonnatus anyway. It makes good sense. Come on, I'll take you home."

She nearly gasped at the thought, nearly wept. He paused, scrutinising her expression.

"Are you alright?" he asked, frowning.

"Yes," she managed, "Yes, I'm fine. Just leave me a moment to get dressed, will you?"

"Of course," he told her.

There were two layers to the bedclothes, and he pulled the top one away, draping the flowery bedspread around his waist and leaving her the think bottom sheet to cover her modesty. In any other situation, he would have looked almost comical trailing around in a floral blanket, naked to the waist, picking up his clothes from the floor.

Once he had gone, she gave herself a brief moment before she too had to get dressed. She lay back and let out the quiet sob she had only just held back as he spoke. He wanted to take her home, back to where she lived and back to her Sisters. But in the moments he'd held her in his arms, when he's made love to her, he'd given her the most human home she'd ever known. The warmest, most physical, embracing, vibrantly loving home she'd ever known. She hadn't realised such a thing could exist on earth. She hadn't known...She pressed her hand to her forehead, clenching her jaw. It was vital that he did not hear her. If he heard her, he would come back in and he would comfort her and-... That would be the end. If he did that, she would never be able to go back to her old life. If this happened again, she would never be able to go back to her old life. This was the first and this was the last. Never again.

She drew a very ragged breath, sitting up slowly. It was still raining, she could hear it against the windows. This was her taste of the life that could have been, and she had certainly taken her fill. If the Lord saw fit to, He would forgive her for that. But she must never come back. She felt empty, but her heart was full. Uneasily, shaking a little, she stepped out of bed, and began to get dressed.

She felt her habit where Patrick had left it on the radiator. It was warmed and dried. She put on her underclothes as quickly as possible, her fingers fumbling a little. She did not want to make him any later than she already had done. This was her taste of a personal love; deep, human, singular, overwhelmingly so. She did not have the stomach for it, she thought ruefully, as she put on her habit; she could not cope with its intensity, it frightened her. It was all so...raw. Even amidst the blissful pleasure was undeniable pain. She could not live with it burning in her veins like this, it made her feel light-headed. She rested her hand gently on the chest of drawers for a second, steadying herself. She would tell Patrick in the car, this could not happen again. She hoped he would see why without thinking her a coward. She was a coward, one who could not cope with unbridled feeling. But she hoped he would not think of her like that, remember her as one.

She tucked her hair under her cap, putting her veil back on. She bent down, examining herself in the mirror to make sure she was presentable. No one would have been able to guess what she had been doing.

As she straightened up, she realised that the mirror was part of a dressing table. It must have been his wife's. He still had Sarah's dressing table, just s it must have been in her life. The thought caused her inexpressible anguish and she quickly looked away from her own reflection in its mirror. She took a deep breath, and left the room in her usual business-like pace to meet Patrick. To be taken home.

**End.**

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	7. Chapter 7

**There was a particular idea mentioned in a few reviews that I couldn't quite resist, so I had a talk about it with thinkture, and I'm adding a part 2 to explore it. I think it's going to require Sister Julienne being slightly younger than in canon (but this is AU after all). Thank you so much for your reviews for the first part of the story, they really were wonderful and I'd love to know what you think of this new part. **

**Part 2**

It was not the first time she had prayed for her professional judgement to be at fault. Once or twice before, when she had diagnosed a patient with some horrendous affliction or seen moments before everyone else that a dreadful complication was about to arise with a pregnancy or delivery she had asked the Lord, hoped with all her heart, that she was wrong. She rarely was. And, selfishly, she had never hoped or prayed harder than she did now.

The chances of her being wrong were extraordinarily small. Almost as small as the chances of this happening at all. She closed her eyes, clutched her stomach gently as her mind reeled and another wave of nausea overcame her, making her wretch once more into the toilet bowl. Her head spun and she gasped for breath. The nausea faded, and the watering in her eyes turned in earnest to tears. She sobbed quietly, kneeling on the floor for long moments and, when her knees began to hurt, getting up to wash her hands in the basin. She caught sight of herself in the small mirror. She looked very peaky; her skin pale and her eyes protruding slightly more than usual from her recent lack of sleep.

Cupping her hands together under the tap, she splashed some water on her face. There was no point going back to sleep with barely over half an hour before she would have to start getting ready for early morning prayers so she might as well wake up, and she had to remove the appearance of tears from her face. She buried her face in the comforting warmth and softness of the towel.

When the knock on the door came, quiet and tentative, her face was buried in the towel; the sound was muffled and she thought she might have imagined it. She paused for a second. It came again, a little more firmly. Whoever was out there must have been able to see the light under the door; they knew she was in here.

"Who is it?" she called softly, trying to make sure that the anxiety welling up inside her was not betrayed by her voice.

"It's me," came the lilting reply, she did not need to hear the name to know exactly whose voice that was, "Sister Bernadette."

"Are you alright, Sister?" Julienne replied, hoping that her voice sounded normal, "Am I needed?"

"Sister," came a rather strained reply, her young Sister seemed to be in some sort of anguish, and she felt herself frown, "Are _you_ alright?" There was a pause. "Please let me in."

Julienne paused for a moment, feeling as if a lead weight was sinking in her chest. How much did Sister Bernadette know? Surely, she would never ask to be let into the bathroom like this under normal circumstances. She must know. Perhaps she had heard on one of the other mornings when Julienne had had to come dashing along to the bathroom as quickly and as quietly as she could.

"Please," she implored again. Julienne had been too shocked for a moment to even think about letting her come in.

Cautiously, Julienne unlatched the door and swiftly, as delicately as she could, Sister Bernadette slipped inside, closing the door behind her. The two women looked at each other hesitantly. One glance was enough to tell both of them all that they needed to know. They continued to watch each other rather timidly; both thoroughly shocked. Sister Bernadette, it seemed, could not quite believe what every trained instinct was telling her emphatically.

"Sister, why didn't you tell me you weren't well?" she asked, looking hurt at the thought as well as concerned. Nevertheless, she guided Julienne gently down to sit on the edge of the bath.

She was watching her carefully. Julienne bowed her head, breathing deliberately evenly, trying to keep herself calm. Discovery had made her panic, irrationally so as this discovery was far more gentle and less damning than others were bound to be. Sister Bernadette knew. There was no need for either of them to pretend, either that she did not know or that what she knew wasn't true.

She looked up at the younger nun slowly, and with just as careful a gaze as the one being fixed on her.

"I didn't tell you I was ill because I'm not," she replied levelly, "I'm pregnant."

The admission made Sister's Bernadette's eyes widen for a second. Perhaps it was the directness and the honesty with which the confession was conveyed that surprised her because the way she next closed her eyes, collected her thoughts and went calmly on confirmed Julienne's suspicion that she had known.

"Do you know how far gone you are?" she asked with remarkable composure and a very sensible note of tact.

Oh, she knew. She knew to the day.

"About eight weeks," she replied.

Sister Bernadette nodded.

"Would you like me to examine you?" she asked softly. Her eyes would not meet Julienne's though her voice was kind.

"Yes," she replied, "I suppose you'd better. But I'm not wrong," she added firmly, "I _am _pregnant," her voice shook a little, "I'm sure of it." 

"Yes," Sister Bernadette replied softly, looking downwards, "Would it be alright if I examined you during our recreation hour? I will come to your cell. No one need know."

Julienne nodded slowly.

"Yes, I think that would be best. Thank you." 

She tried to smile her thanks, but Sister Bernadette still would not meet her eyes.

"Sister?" she said, a pleading note in her voice.

Sister Bernadette looked up sharply- with a what seemed to take incredible composure and courage on her part- and met her eyes. Her look was sympathetic, a little frightened, but more than anything else one of great confusion which contrasted greatly with the certainty she had exuded moments earlier.

"Sister, I don't judge you," she told her plainly, but nevertheless carefully, "For anything that might have happened. And I don't want to presume to ask you-... And if you did want to talk to anyone I should always be there to hear whatever you wanted to tell. But I feel I must ask you if you were-..."

"No," Julienne replied sharply, determined to establish that very firmly because the suggestion could have been further from the truth, "This baby is the product of a wholly..." What to say? Intimate? Loving? "Consensual act," she settled for, then, in a more furtive, anxious tone insisted, "It only happened once."

"It's alright, Sister," Sister Bernadette murmured quietly, resting her hand on Julienne's shoulder, "You don't have to excuse yourself to me."

"I don't pretend to excuse myself," she replied softly, "I there is no excuse for what I did. I only want to explain," she finished weakly, and then, after thinking, "But I don't know how. If I knew how, I would have told you sooner. Everything was so vivid at the time; too vivid to think of properly or to be able to put into words. Now there isn't enough there to be able to phrase, there's just-..."

"A baby," Sister Bernadette finished for her, with the gentle bluntness that only she seemed to be capable of.

In spire of everything that was happening, it managed to make Julienne smile; the unabashed honesty with which her Sister spoke had at the same time a comforting innocence that almost amused her.

"Well, quite," she agreed, resting her hand tenderly on her stomach.

"Sister," she began very timidly, and very slowly, obviously weighing up her words with the utmost care, "I know it is none of my concern, but it does concern me, in the sense that it worries me-..."

"What is it?" Julienne asked swiftly. The young nun's anxiety to be tactful and gentle was impairing her expression.

"Have you told the father?" she asked, seeming to exhale at the same time.

Julienne was quiet. She had not told the father. She had not told anyone, except now Sister Bernadette. It was not entirely true to say that now she felt _nothing_. Every time she saw the father, there was the most piercing awareness, a poignancy that rose in her, filling her veins, an aching longing that almost overcame her. Memories would resurface of what they had done. Her heart would hammer with guilt and with want and with love, even before she had known she was carrying his child. And since she had known... In his arms it briefly had felt like an earthly home akin to the divinity she had only known hereto in the Lord. She had lain alone, on his bed, holding back her sobs so that he could not hear her from the other side of the door and it felt like her heart had fallen out of her chest and broken on the floor. Every time she thought of their child it was like it healed a little. She had not told the father because she could not trust herself be with him long enough to get the words out.

She shook her head slowly.

"I haven't," she replied.

Sister Bernadette nodded understandingly, but Julienne could see the sparks of curiosity in the girl's eyes. She knew she would never dream of asking, but she would probably be the gentlest, the most forgiving person to tell, if not exactly the easiest.

"It's Dr. Turner, Sister," she confessed quietly, "Dr. Turner is the father of my child."

Sister Bernadette did very well not to look completely taken aback by that.

"Will you tell him?" she asked after a few moments.

"I don't see that I have any choice," she replied, "He deserves to know."

The expression on Sister Bernadette's face gently moved from one of relative equanimity to one of confused grief. She looked about ready to cry. She did not deserve to have this enormous burden thrust upon her.

"There is no need for you to feel aggrieved, Sister," Julienne told her gently, resting a hand upon her arm, "These are circumstances of my own making, and I shall bear the consequences. There is no need for you to be upset. This is the result of my wrong-doing and I must carry the guilt." 

Sister Bernadette seemed to swallow hard, stirring herself to say something.

"You taught me that wrong-doing is not a matter of exclusivity," she replied after a moment, quietly but steadily, "It is the human condition. We are all guilty, and we can all be forgiven, with love," she seemed to gulp a little and tears were distinctly welling in her eyes, "I want to stand by you in this, Sister. If you'll let me."

For a moment Julienne did not know what to say.

"I would be an ungrateful fool to turn your help away," she finally managed to reply.

And suddenly, Sister Bernadette had wrapped her arms around her; gently, but firmly, hugging her and comforting her. With Julienne sitting on the edge of the bathtub, they were about the same height and the sides of their heads rested gently together. Julienne did not know what to do but return the gesture. It was unusually expressive for the tentative Sister Bernadette, and all the more keenly effective for it. It was what Julienne desperately needed at this moment; this sisterly embrace, this source of the most valuable support. They were both weeping gently.

**Please review if you have the time.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Thank you so much for your reviews. I hope this chapter is okay. **

Sister Bernadette telephoned Dr. Turner at the Maternity Hospital to ask him to come to Nonnatus House at teatime.

When her physical examination was over, Julienne had cried. The action of the examination, quite apart from the fact that it confirmed for Sister Bernadette all that Julienne had already known, made everything suddenly seem very real. This was not some awful nightmare, this was happening. She had thought that the realisation had hit her earlier; she had been wrong. The fear she felt now was extraordinary, like nothing she'd ever known before. She felt sick with it. What was going to happen to her, and to her baby? Sister Bernadette helped her back into her habit, and she pressed her hand to her mouth, trying to stem the flow of tears. Sitting down on the bed beside her, watching her cautiously with her doe like eyes, her younger Sister had voiced the words they both knew needed to be spoken.

"You need to tell him, Sister," she told her gently, "Soon. It can't come from anyone else." 

Wiping her eyes, Julienne nodded slowly, knowing that it was perfectly true.

"Do you feel ready to?" Sister Bernadette asked quietly.

"No," she gave a humourless laugh, "But then I don't suppose I ever shall." There was a brief pause. "Well," she sighed heavily, "I suppose the sooner it's done, the better."

Sister Bernadette nodded firmly.

"I think that would be best," she agreed, "I'll telephone for him if you like."

"Oh, would you?"

And so it was arranged; he was coming that evening. Sister Bernadette had told him to go straight through to the office. Having declined her younger Sister's offer to wait there with her, Julienne sat at her desk, awaiting his arrival. She needed to do this alone.

He arrived punctually. This was indeed a time of great change, she thought wryly to herself. He looked a little sheepish as he entered her office and lingered by the door, closing it soundly behind himself. Perhaps he sensed her nervousness.

"Sister Bernadette said you wanted to see me," he told her, unnecessarily explaining his presence as if he felt the need to justify it, "Is everything alright?"

"It's not, as a matter of fact," she told him, as breezily, as levelly as she could manage, "I think you'd better have a seat." 

She indicated the only other chair, across the desk from hers, and they both sat down.

"What seems to be the matter?" he asked her, his tone incongruously formal.

It occurred to her then that he thought he was here on a professional matter not a personal one; and that his sheepishness had been caused purely by being alone in her presence, for what must have been the first time since she'd got out of his car when he brought her back to Nonnatus. This was going to be even more difficult, if possible, than she had anticipated. Sister Bernadette was bound to have been discreet when she talked to him on the telephone, to the point where apparently she had not told him why he was here. She cleared her throat slightly.

"The matter," she began uncertainly, "Is that-...The thing is that when we-... we-..."

She could not say it, she could not find the right word. She could not speak of it in her usual clinical manner or revert to popular euphemism. Neither would be right. They exchanged a glance and she knew he understood what she meant.

"Yes?" he asked quietly. He sounded surprised more than he did embarrassed. It soothed her a little that he managed to convey a dignified regret rather than shame or indifference.

There was a direct and an indirect way to tell him. There was no easy way, but there was a quick one.

"I'm pregnant," she told him in blunt terms, "And the child is yours. Not that it would be anyone else's," she added a moment later, rather foolishly.

He looked at her for a moment, completely stunned. Then he ran his hand through his hair, his face conveying nothing but the utmost disbelief. She could not blame his for that in the least, but still, his silence unsettled her she could not help but ask:

"Say something. Please, say anything."

He let out a long, deep breath and it occurred to her that she had not heard him breathe aloud for what felt like minutes.

"I can't believe this," he told her in a quiet voice, "I can't-..."

"Nor can I," she replied, smiling at him, rather dryly.

That seemed to snap him back to his normal senses a little. He ran his hand through his hair again and looked directly at her, his alive with regret and guilt.

"Sister, you have no idea how sorry I am," he told her at last, "To have-...," he looked desperately for the right word, "Burdened you, like this."

She shook her head gently.

"I don't blame you," she told him, her voice low and honest, her eyes just flitting- almost shyly- up from the desk to meet his, "At least no more than I do myself. I came to you. I asked you to."

Their eyes met fully for a moment, they seemed to breathe a deep, uneven breath at the same time and then they both looked sharply away. She wondered how many memories he had had to push down at her words. To her it felt like thousands. Looking down at the face of the desk now, he gave a small, hollow laugh.

"What was it we said then about regret?" he asked rather ruefully, his voice low.

She opened her eyes, looking at him very carefully.

"Do you regret what we did?" she whispered, not accusingly but very intently. She could not deny that the prospect wounded her. Then all of this would be for nothing.

It seemed that he did not know what to say to that. Perhaps he was frightened of how she would react to the truth.

"I try to," she told him in a soft voice a moment later when he did not reply.

He covered his eyes with his hand for a moment.

"Sister," he murmured, a moment later, his voice a little ragged, "Being with you was-... wonderful, in so many ways. But this-..." he looked at her with narrowed eyes, "You can't not wish things were different to how they are at the moment?" he asked, hints of incredulity in his voice.

She felt her posture weaken a little and her shoulder slump. His words gave her an undeniable feeling of relief.

"That's how I feel too," she told him quietly. That was exactly how she felt.

"I regret that we weren't more careful," he told her after a moment, his tone verging on contemplative, "Us of all people."

Their eyes met again; they had neither of them ever been able to resist irony however poignant. The smile and gentle half-laugh they exchanged was steeped in a weary sadness.

"Does anyone else know?" he asked after a while, clasping his hands together in a way that was his approximation of being business-like.

"Only Sister Bernadette," she answered, "She cornered me in the bathroom this morning. She made me see that I had to tell you now."

"Will you tell the others?" he asked.

"Well, if I don't their suspicions will probably be aroused when I suddenly become a lot larger," she replied, trying not to be too wry but could not help adding, "They are midwives, after all."

"You know what I mean," he told her, shaking his head a little, "What I'm trying to say is, what are you going to do?"

There was a long silence.

"I wish I knew," she replied at last.

He nodded curtly; he had not expected her to know.

"I expect that I will have to go back to the Mother House in Chichester," she supplied, "At some point or another. It is more than probable that the baby will be born there. I don't expect I will be able to-... in Poplar."

He nodded again. His expression was almost dazed. She did not know if he was capable of saying anything at the moment, so she told him:

"Though I'm not sure at the moment what I intend to do, exactly," she assured him, "But I won't do anything without first seeking your opinion."

His eyes flitted back towards her, and he seemed to come back to himself a little more. He smiled gently.

"I will support you in any decision you make," he told her, leaning forwards a little in his chair, "I feel... unconscionably guilty and very responsible... for you, and for our child. I want to make it up to you."

His tone and his expression were so in earnest that it warmed her heart. For days now she had been feeling predominately fear, fear and crippling uncertainty. Now something else submerged her wrought nerves; a tenderness for him, and for their unborn child. She felt more relaxed and she gave an almost relieved sigh. He could be so wonderful, she thought, he was wonderful; he had said exactly the right thing. It gave her immense comfort. He-... And this was exactly how they had got here in the first place.

She realised that without thinking about it she too had leant forward in her seat, gently resting her hands over his where they lay on the desk. And he had not stopped her. She withdrew quickly, looking guiltily up at him for a moment. He was watching her closely.

"Thank you," she told him, clasping her hands securely together on her lap, unable to meet his eye, forcing a sudden formality into her tone, "Thank you for your kind support, Doctor."

He seemed to understand that he was being dismissed.

"You know how to reach me," he nodded towards the telephone on her desk, "Any time you need."

**Please review if you have the time.**


	9. Chapter 9

The next thing to do was to tell the rest of Nonnatus House, the younger midwives and especially her Sisters. It was unavoidable, it had to be done. She owed it to them to tell them the truth, and perhaps public confession would assuage the guilt and the anxiety that secrecy wrought in her. That and the fact that if she did not tell them soon one of them was bound to notice something and guess, as Sister Bernadette had done, or something in her manner or actions would at least rouse suspicion.

"I think it's a good idea," Sister Bernadette told her firmly when she confided her intention, and then, with a little apprehension, "I think you're very brave to, Sister."

Julienne raised her head sharply at that. Brave was not one of the adjectives she thought of most immediately in relation to herself at the moment.

"It would be very easy for you to simply leave for the Mother House without adequate explanation," Bernadette explained, "I admire you for facing up to this as you have, Sister."

Sister Julienne smiled weakly, squeezing her friend's hand in thanks before she went back to her business. She did not add that leaving for the Mother House brought even greater fear to her heart than the prospect of telling her Sisters. She did not know why, except to say that the idea of talking about things- _really _talking about what had happened, and what was more what was going to happen, with Mother Jesu Emmanuel- was something she could not yet stomach, and even this seemed infinitely easier. She was frightened of what she would unearth if pressed to talk about anything beyond practicalities.

But still, it was almost to her dismay that she found no one was absent from tea that afternoon. Not a chair at the table was left unoccupied, and this did not hearten her; nor did the fact that while everyone was tired after their day's work they seemed to be in fairly good spirits. It bolstered her that Sister Bernadette sat at her left hand, and she sensed a silent source of support from the young nun as they took their seats.

As she sat down, she caught Sister Evangelina watching her, her eyes narrowed a little.

"Are you alright, Sister?" Sister Evangelina asked her.

Julienne drew a ragged breath, trying to calm herself. She felt palpably nervous, almost physically nauseous. She wondered if they could see that she was shaking. Sister Evangelina's words had drawn the attention of the others at the table to her, and concerned eyes were now observing her from all sides. Her left hand rested flat on the table, and she felt Sister Bernadette's hand cover it for a moment, resting gently on top of it, trying to comfort her. She gave her a small, weary smile of thanks before turning to reply to Sister Evangelina.

"Thank you for your concern, Sister," she replied, "And, as a matter of fact, there is something rather important which I must discus with you all concerning, amongst other things, my own well-being."

She could not look at any of them. When she caught a brief glimpse of Sister Evangelina's face she saw what she knew was a hint of real worry hidden behind her friend's gruff exterior. She fixed her eyes on a point just left of Sister Monica Joan's head and spoke, as levelly as she could.

"I feel I owe it to you all to tell you the truth," she told them all, "Because what is going to happen will probably affect you all in the coming months," she took a deep breath, "I imagine at some point I will be absent for an extended period of time, I am going to the Mother House in Chichester. During that time Sister Bernadette has agreed to take charge."

Her hand was shaking again and she rested it in her lap so that they would not be able to see.

"I know you may feel I have let you all down, and I understand that sentiment. I share it," she told them. She wanted to cry. She had to bite her lip to stop herself.

"There's nothing wrong in having some time off to go to the Mother House," Sister Evangelina told her, her expression unusually gentle, "We all need a rest once in a while. If you're feeling run down you've go to do what you've got to do. We understand."

Across the table Jenny nodded fervently and Chummy muttered a quite, "Of course."

"Thank you, Sister," Julienne replied, her voice straining, "But I have not finish; I have not-... explained why."

She realised she had been skirting around telling them. She just had to say it.

"I find myself in a condition with which we are all very familiar," she told them, her voice forced and formal, "I'm going to have a child."

The silence that followed was, quite as she had expected, one of the longest and most disbelieving she had ever born witness to. She thought for a moment that they were going to laugh, like this was some absurd practical joke, but they saw the expression on her face and it told them that she was far from joking.

The silence was the only natural thing that could have followed but it was frightening, incredulous and isolating. She longed to break it, but knew she must not. She would not excuse herself. They must be given the facts, as many of them as they needed, with honesty and without any degree of wishful interpretation. But she longed to speak, she could hardly bear the loneliness of this.

At last Jenny spoke, her voice quiet, nervous and uncertain.

"Sister, were you-...?" she moved her head sharply to the side, trying to convey without words the notion that was too unsavoury to voice.

She shook her head.

"No," she replied shortly, "I was not."

The silence continued. She felt she had just shattered their last desperate hope that there was an innocent, on her part at least, explanation to this. She could not look at Sister Evangelina. Gently, she cleared her throat.

"I realise this must be a shock to you all," she told them softly, looking down at the table now, "But let me assure you no one is aware more keenly of the consequences of my actions than I am. I can only apologise most sincerely to for the inconvenience and distress they are bound to cause you all. I only ask you to remember me in your prayers," she took a deep breath, "As I would have done, had anyone of you been in my shoes."

She had decided that no one else was going to say anything and spoke with an air of conclusion.

"Hang on a giddy minute," Sister Evangelina spoke at last, "Aren't you at least going to tell us who the father is? As seen as you say this baby was not conceived under unsolicited circumstances."

Her eyebrow was raised in the stoutly affronted expression that Julienne had seen her wear before, and most closely associated with her Sister's cherished expression: "You've had your sweets, now take your sours".

She opened her mouth to answer, but Sister Bernadette beat her to it.

"I'll thank you to consider that just because Sister was not raped does not mean that the circumstances as a whole were necessarily solicited," she told her with a boldness that Julienne was sure not only she marvelled at, "I'm surprised you do not realise that this case is not as simple as that."

"And how do you know so much about it?" Sister Evangelina asked, turning to Sister Bernadette, her voice and expression rather harsh.

Sister Bernadette for her part did not so much a flinch; rather she flared and seemed about to retort with equal vehemence when Julienne laid a preventative and placatory hand on her shoulder.

"There is no need to defend me, Sister," she told her gently, "Though I very much appreciate it." Then, turning to Sister Evangelina, "Doctor Turner," she told her simply, "Is the father of my child."

Sister Evangelina did not retort, exactly, but she seemed to huff a great deal, and was heard to mutter; "You'd have thought the two of you would know better than this. And that's only medically speaking-..." 

"Yes, thank you, Sister," Julienne replied, sharply and clearly, "Believe me, no one is more presently appraised of my shortcomings of wisdom and understanding than I am. I realise," she added dryly, "That in all manner of ways I am the worst possible advert for Nonnatus House. And that is why, as I have said, I shall shortly be leaving for the Mother House."

Though Sister Evangelina did not seem impressed by this explanation she sank into a discontented silence.

"Does Dr. Tuner know you're going?" Cynthia piped up, surprising them all a little.

"No," Julienne shook her head, "But I shall tell him. Do not worry, I shall not leave an unwillingly estranged father on your hands."

"Well, thank you very much for that," Sister Evangelina snorted.

Abashed, Sister Julienne looked down at the table, and she was not the only one. She felt sick to her stomach, and wanted nothing more than to leave and weep.

"Excuse me," she told them all, "I seem to have rather lost my appetite. I will leave you all to eat without me."

"We'll save you something," Trixie told her, "In case you feel like it later."

Sister Julienne smiled gently.

"You are very kind, but I do not expect it will be needed," she replied quietly, "I have much to think about."

She was about to go, when a voice that had not spoken all the while that they were at the table made her stop. She had thought Sister Monica Joan had been put off by the seriousness of the discussion and ceased to pay attention to them.

"_I have been taught to reason by the heart; But heart, like head, leads helplessly; I have been told to reason by the pulse, And when it quickens. Alter the actions' pace_."

"Sister!" Sister Bernadette told her, in an urgently low voice, evidently thinking that her words would upset Julienne, "Behave yourself!"

But Julienne turned back towards the table, looking at them. Sister Bernadette's face did indeed betray apprehension and anticipation of her distress. But she looked at Sister Monica Joan and saw that far from having not paid attention, she had understood far more than any of them had what lay at the heart of the matter; more than Julienne had understood it herself.

There was a pause.

"Yes," Julienne murmured at last in reply, her voice catching a little, "And that's just the problem."

**Sister Monica Joan was quoting 'Should lanterns shine' by Dylan Thomas.**

**Please review if you have the time.**


	10. Chapter 10

**Thank you for your reviews so far, they are very interesting and they really do keep me going. **

She was sitting in the garden of Nonnatus House when he arrived. She saw him appear in the doorway, looking around a little nervously, and smiled; getting up out of her chair to meet him.

"Hello," he told her when she was closer, "Sister Evangelina let me in. She told me I'd find you here."

"Yes," she murmured in reply, falling into step beside him as they walked their way slowly down the path in the middle of the garden, "And before I forget, a word of warning: that may not have been an accident. I got the impression she might have been trying to waylay you and," she gave him an almost conspiratorial smile, "Don't be surprised if you find we're being subtly chaperoned. She announced rather clearly that she was going to leave her cell window open."

Their eyes met for a moment an she raised her eyebrows at him. He laughed gently in reply, and as he did so profound gratitude struck her that they were still able to laugh together like this. She could only pray that they would still be able to at the end of all this.

"I know," he replied, "I _was _waylaid on my way in," he explained quietly, "And given a lecture on contraception that would have stood up at a meeting of the British Medical Association. I thought she was going to send me away with an NHS pamphlet on the subject," he added wryly, running a hand through his hair.

She laughed a little, though it was tampered with strain.

"Of everyone at Nonnatus House, Sister Evangelina is finding... adjustment to the new situation the most difficult," she explained gently, "I think I may be including myself in that."

He chuckled again.

"That certainly sounds right," he agreed, "She told me I was no better than any other man in Poplar when it came to my behaviour towards women."

He caught sight of the look on her face at that remark and the laughter left his eyes. There was a moment's awkward pause between them.

"I don't, you know," he told her, very seriously, after another moment.

"You don't what?" she asked, confused.

"_Behave_..." he spoke the word with such emphasis that she knew he could not be using it in the normal way, "Towards women. Only you."

Their eyes met. Yes, she knew what he meant.

"I see," she replied carefully, "And yes," she told him very gently, "I did know. I could tell. You were so-... alone. There was no way that-..."

She did not need to finish. There was another long pause. She could remember it so very painfully. He had been _so _alone; every fibre of his being had exuded it and it had made her ache and the only thing that could cure either of them had been... the behaviour that followed. She realised that their eyes were boring into each other, and looked sharply away. He did so at the same time, and gave an uncomfortable cough, clearing his throat. There was another moment's silence.

"How are you?" he asked, his voice forcibly light.

"I'm well," she replied, her own tone similarly changed, "The nausea is a little better, and everyone is taking very good care of me, despite the strangeness of it all. No one quite knows what to say, but I want for nothing. I find I am increasingly partial to Mrs B.'s homemade sponge cakes and so I am in bad favour with Sister Monica Joan but she finds solace in the knowledge that this will told be a permanent arrangement," she stirred herself, knowing that she had laid the groundwork and that she had to tell him now, "You remember I said that I might be going back to the Mother House in Chichester?"

He nodded. Their pace slowed for a second but a moment later it resumed evenly again as he reconciled himself to what she was telling him.

"You're going to go?" he asked, betraying no hint of emotion at the prospect.

She nodded.

"It is expected," she replied, "As expected as any of this can be," she corrected herself, unable to stand the irony of her own remark left unchecked.

"And you will stay there until the baby is born?" he pressed.

"I think so," she confirmed.

"Will I be able to visit you?" he wanted to know.

"I don't know yet," she replied, "I will ask Mother Jesu Emmanuel. Once the baby is born," she added uneasily, "You would, of course, be permitted to visit the baby before-..."

She trailed off uneasily.

"Before?" he questioned, his eyebrows raised in a way that conveyed no good humour this time, only harrowing apprehension.

"I don't know yet," she told him again, her voice full of gravity.

She looked at him, imploring him to understand. He nodded rather stoically and his eyes fell towards their feet. Their pace slowed almost to a halt. There was a moment's silence.

"When will you go?" he asked at last.

"In two weeks' time," she replied, "Any later and it would be starting to show and-... As Sister Evangelina pointed out to me, they do not make habits with the capacity for such an eventuality."

He smiled but there was no humour in it at all now. The look made her stomach drop a little and she looked away.

"I've been thinking," he told her, slowly resuming their pace, "Are you alright to keep walking or would you prefer that we sat?"

"I'm fine to walk," she replied.

"When you first said the baby might be born in Chichester," he continued, "It made me think. If you were there all the time the pregnancy was noticeable, no one in Poplar would know that the child was yours, would they?"

"No," she replied slowly, wondering where he was going with this, "No one but the younger midwives and my Sisters."

"Well," he continued, "You could come back, if you wanted to, and live here as you always have done. If that's what you want."

"That would mean leaving the baby," she pointed out quietly. And she was not sure if she could do that. The thought made her nausea suddenly seem to return.

"Not necessarily," he replied quickly, "Not if a family in Poplar were to adopt the baby. Someone-..."

She realised what his plan was and could not help but let out a slight gasp.

"Patrick," she told him warningly, "I think I know what-..."

"And?" he asked her.

"You can't possibly be suggesting that you adopt your own child?" she asked him.

"And why not?" he asked her levelly, "I think it's a perfectly reasonable idea. It was the only way I could think of making sure you wouldn't have to leave your old life or our child."

She tried not to let her heart soften beyond the reach of reason at his words. And it was more difficult than she would like to admit.

"Thank you," she told him, "Really, sincerely, from the bottom of my heart, thank you, Patrick for thinking of me so much. But what makes you think that I could watch this child grow up and not be able to tell them that I'm their mother? And for that matter, you wouldn't be able to tell them that you're really their father. I already love this baby, Patrick," she told him softly, saying outloud the words she had not even let form in her head before, "I don't think I could do that," she smiled at him gently, trying to silently tell him how thankful she really was for his consideration for her, "And that's not to mention," she added, "How are you going to look after a baby? Between your patients and Timothy you're just about stretched to the limit as it is. And," she pressed, her tone lightening a little, "What about any complications that might arise, like the baby being the spitting image of me, for instance?"

They exchanged a serious look for a moment, and it seemed that their thoughts followed the same path. She tried not to imagine it: a daughter who looked just like her or a son who was just like him. She gave a nervous laugh which turned halfway through into a little sob. He looked at her in concern.

"I'm alright," she insisted before he could ask.

He nodded, though she was not sure if he was convinced.

"But you still don't know what you're going to do?" he asked, a moment later, "Even with-... what you've just said."

She shook her head.

"I'm sorry," she told him.

"No," he replied quietly, "I'm sorry. For everything."

They were quiet for a few minutes; standing still and facing each other. They were at the end of the garden by the door, at the furthest end of the garden from Sister Evangelina's open window.

"You know," he began slowly, "If you didn't want to come back to your life here at Nonnatus, I would take care of you. I would marry you."

"Why?" she asked him gently, "Because you're sorry?"

"No," he replied, rather quickly and a little harshly, and then stopped a second later, looking abashed. It was the first time she'd seen any hint of temper about him, and it was gone entirely when he said a second later, "But isn't that why you came to me? Because you felt sorry for me?"

"No," she told him, "I felt-... I can't even tell you how I felt. A part of it was sympathy, yes, I don't deny it. But another part, a much greater part, I-..."

Their eyes met, and she hoped hers explained what she did not know how to say. Perhaps they did, his expression softened a little.

"Yes," he replied quietly, "I know."

His eyes were full of something close to awe and she knew that he was remembering. She thought for a moment that he was about to reach out and touch her cheek, and she wanted to let him, but she knew that the contact would burn when they had to part. She took a small, tactful step away. He looked down at the floor again.

"I should go," he told her after a moment, his fingers running through his hair again, "Would it be alright if I came and paid my respects before you leave for Chichester?"

She smiled.

"I would like that," she replied.

**Please review if you have the time.**


	11. Chapter 11

She sat in her cell, at the foot of her bed. Beside her her suitcase lay on top of the bedspread, open and half-full; containing her clean habit and veil, two nightdresses and her winter cardigan as well as some stockings and undergarments; all neatly laundered and folded. Her hands were clasped in her lap, and her eyes flitted once more around the room that she would not see for at least another few months. She took a deep, levelling breath just at the same time as the door clicked gently open.

Sister Bernadette stood in the doorway, carrying the pile of garments she had been sent to fetch. The two exchanged a sad, silent smile and Sister Bernadette crossed with her usual efficiency to the bed, placing the garments on top of the others in the case. Julienne glanced down at the case and saw the various faded patterns of the various second-hand maternity dresses Sister Bernadette had been discreetly collecting over the past few weeks from wherever she could. Julienne did not know what to say, she hardly knew how the sight of the dresses made her feel, except that she was almost overwhelmed by her younger Sister's kindness. Once the case was closed, Sister Bernadette placed in gently on the floor by the bed.

"May I, Sister?" she asked, indicating to the bed.

"Of course," Julienne replied, smiling back at her as she sat down on the bed where the case had just been.

"I have your ticket to Chichester," Sister Bernadette told her handing her a small envelope, "We have a little while before you have to leave for the station."

"I'll have to leave in time to catch the bus," Julienne replied, opening the envelope and briefly examining the ticket.

She heard Sister Bernadette give the smallest noise of discontent.

"What is the matter, Sister?" she asked her gently.

"Nothing," she replied, "Just-... Are you sure that you would not have been more comfortable if you had let Dr. Turner drive you to the station in his car?"

"I am sure," she replied firmly.

Sister Bernadette knew better than to question her any further. Julienne frowned.

"Sister, this is a first class ticket," she told her, pointing out the offending letters on the ticket itself, "You have been extravagant, I do not deserve or need-..."

"It is not I who has been extravagant," Sister Bernadette replied.

"What do you mean?" Julienne asked, her confusion growing.

Sister Bernadette blinked, looking perhaps as if she regretted what she had said. But Julienne held her gaze unremittingly.

"Dr. Turner insisted that he paid for your ticket," she admitted at last, "He would not hear a word of disagreement. He wanted to drive you to Chichester, but I managed to persuade him against offering you that." 

"Quite right," Julienne agreed, "Impossible man."

Sister Bernadette smiled gently.

"He means very well," she reminded her softly.

"Oh, I know he does," she replied ruefully, resting her hand on her stomach, "And the road to hell is paved with good intentions. His and my own to be exact."

"Sister-..." Sister Bernadette murmured, looking distressed.

Smiling at her apologetically, Julienne reached out, taking her hand and holding it gently.

"You have been so kind to me through all of this, Sister," she told her, "You have been my rock, my tower of strength. Truly, I do not know how I shall manage without you."

Sister Bernadette looked a little abashed but smiled nonetheless.

"I'm sure you won't want for support at the Mother House," she replied modestly, "And you shall be in the safest hands that could be imagined." 

"Yes," she murmured in reply, "I know."

And she did know. But still, she wondered, she doubted that they could come with the unquestioning kindness, the unadulterated care, without judgement that came to her from her own dear Sister. Who, even at this moment, was watching her with such tender sympathy that it almost brought a lump to her throat. The goodness of this girl almost defied belief. She could hardly bear the thought that if she did not, or could not come back to Poplar, it was unlikely that they could ever meet again. She pushed the thought furiously from her head. For this, she must come back. She squeezed her Sister's hand tenderly.

"Even so," she added at last, "I shall miss you terribly."

"And I you, Sister," Sister Bernadette replied, "But I shall remember you and your child in my prayers, we all will."

Julienne smiled her thanks.

"I will remember you to Mother Jesu Emmanuel," she told her, "And tell her of your extraordinary kindness and the way you have managed while I have been indisposed."

"You will be seeing a great deal of Mother Jesu?" Sister Bernadette asked.

"I shall," Julienne replied, not attempting to disguise her discomfort at the thought, "There is much we must discuss."

The apprehension obviously told in her voice for this time, it was Sister Bernadette who took hold of her hand.

"Mother Jesu is very kind, and very wise," Sister Bernadette reminded her gently, "I doubt even this is beyond the bounds of her experience. Well," she amended herself gracefully when Julienne raised a rather sceptical eyebrow at her, "I'm sure she will at least have a useful perspective on the matter."

Julienne gave a heavy sigh.

"I used to feel as if there was nothing I hadn't seen," she confided in her Sister, "As if after all the years here there was little life could throw at me that I did not know how to manage. It would all be different manifestations of what had gone before. How wrong I was," she judged ruefully, "I could have hardly imagined any of this."

Sister Bernadette said nothing, but squeezed Julienne's hand once more in consolation.

"Mother Jesu will want to talk about things that I am not ready to talk about," she continued gravely, "Not with her. Not even with you, Sister, things I am finding difficult to even think about myself. She will ask about my relationship with the Lord, and about my feelings for Dr. Turner. Why every small kindness he offers to me, like paying for my train ticket, feels like the most inexplicable kindness but also the most unimaginable pain... and I cannot reconcile the two," she took a deep breath, knowing that she was not making much sense, "She will want to delve and to examine and she will do so as kindly and as tactfully as she can but-..."

"But it will hurt?" Sister Bernadette finished for her.

Julienne nodded, feeling tears welling up in her eyes.

"Yes," she replied, her voice hitching, "It already does."

Sister Bernadette's hand rested on her shoulder.

"She will only do it with your best interests at heart, Sister," Bernadette told her, "With your happiness and the well-being of your child at heart."

"I know," Julienne murmured.

Sister Bernadette looked at her, her eyes sharing her pain for a moment.

"But you're still dreading it," she finished gravely for her.

Though Julienne nodded again, she could not speak, her hand was pressed gently to her mouth to stop her tears. She felt Sister Bernadette's arms around her, hugging her gently.

"Talking will help you," Sister Bernadette told her quietly after long silent moment, "Talk to Mother as you could not to me, Sister."

Julienne nodded shakily.

"Yes," she replied at last, "Yes, I suppose I must," she wiped her eyes, "You must think me a terrible coward in all of this. Here I am crying at the prospect of a conversation with a perfectly kind person-..."

"I do not think that you're a coward," Sister Bernadette told her quietly but firmly, "I never sore bravery like yours."

Julienne did not saw anything in reply.

"Perhaps we should set off," Sister Bernadette said after a few moments, glancing at the alarm clock on her bedside table, "We cannot afford to miss this bus." 

"We?" Julienne asked.

Sister Bernadette looked sheepish for a moment.

"Dr. Turner gave me enough money for me to accompany you on the bus to the station," she told her carefully, "He insisted," she added after a moment, bending down to pick up the suitcase.

She cast her eyes back at Julienne, anxiously watching her expression. Julienne was determined not to reveal the impossible anguish that the revelation somehow caused in her.

"That man will be the death of me," she remarked with a forced lightness.

**Please review if you have the time. **


	12. Chapter 12

**This was really difficult to write, I really hope it's ok. It wasn't only Julienne who was dreading the talk with Mother Jesu.**

On her second day at the Mother House she was told that Mother Jesu would expect her in her office at 2:00. Mother had welcomed her kindly when she arrived but few words had been exchanged between the pair of them as Julienne was shown up to her room. Something in Mother Jesu's manner had said that there would be plenty of time to talk later. And now that time had arrived Julienne felt all of her apprehension rising once more in her throat. She knocked quite tentatively on the door and waited for the reply.

"Come in." 

She entered to find an office not dissimilar to her own back at Nonnatus House. The office that had been her own, she corrected herself. Whatever the outcome of this she thought it unlikely that she would ever be trusted as Sister-in-charge again.

But Mother Jesu Emmanuel's expression was kind and, though it did also make her appear a little stern, there was a consoling firmness in her demeanour.

"Sister Julienne," she addressed her in a voice of warmth which held the same air of reassuring certainty, "Please come and sit down."

Julienne did so quietly, wanting for the moment not to speak but only to be spoken to. Mother Jesu seemed to realise this and as she sat down in the chair behind the desk told her;

"It is good to see you again, whatever the circumstances. It has been such a long time since I was in Poplar, and quite a long time, I imagine, since you were out of it. It is a comfort to me to know that you will be rested here, as I am sure it is always the first thing you neglect."

Perhaps Julienne was more attuned to noticing irony, because Mother Jesu spoke the last remark without a hint of a suggestion or a reproach. Nevertheless, Julienne thought, the reminder stung. Mother Jesu was watching her closely, her hands clasped before her on the desk.

"There is much we have to discuss," she stated, her tone a little graver.

Julienne nodded.

"Yes, Mother," she replied humbly.

"I am anxious to know how you are in yourself," Mother Jesu told her simply, "But first there is something I feel I must say. My dear Sister Julienne, do not think that you are the only one who has ever broken their religious vows. You are not. We all do, in thought or in action; it is admittedly unfortunate that the consequences of your lapse are more noticeable and more lasting than they might have been. You know that the Lord sees all and the Lord forgives all. So please," she was watching Julienne with an expression of the utmost compassion, "Let that ease the guilt that I know you feel. I don't need to remind you that the anxiety it is causing you is not good for your baby."

Julienne looked down at the desk.

"I'm not sure if I can do that," she replied quietly.

"And why is that?" Mother asked, frowning a little.

"Because the Lord forgives when we repent," Julienne replied, "And-... what I did-... I do not wholly regret."

There was silence for a few moments.

"Is that because you love the father of your child?" Mother asked simply.

The question surprised Julienne with its directness.

"I don't know," she replied instinctively, "That's to say," she amended a second later, "I've loved him for years, in a certain way. We have been very close friends and he has been a very good colleague."

"I have been given to understand that he is your district GP."

Julienne nodded.

"Yes," she replied, "And he has been very kind. Ever since I told him about the child he has done everything in his power, nothing has been too much trouble for him. He is a very good man."

Mother listened, nodding gently, accepting what Julienne said.

"And what about before the child was conceived?" she asked, "Did you... conduct a long affair?"

"No," Julienne replied, a little curtly, "It only happened once."

Mother was quiet, waiting for Julienne to say more; to explain for herself what had happened and why. But Julienne hardly knew what to say. She had never put the experience into words before, not even to Sister Bernadette. But Sister Bernadette had never pressed her like this, without words but with eyes that willed her to explain herself.

"He was lonely," she told her slowly, "Terribly lonely. He is a widower. He was so alone. I can't even bring myself to imagine it. And one evening we were talking and ended up-... We kissed," she explained as briefly as she could, "We kissed and I couldn't stop thinking about it, for days afterwards. All I could think of was him. I didn't feel sorry for him in a normal way-... I ached with pity and longing and feeling, as I don't think I'd done since I was young, or even then."

"And then what happened?" Mother Jesu prompted gently.

"I went to him," Julienne replied shakily, "I went to his house. And we made love. It was pouring with rain," she remembered softly, the detail resurfacing in her mind as she thought about that day.

And he had mouthed the rain away from her forehead. She shuddered as the image flashed vividly through her brain. He had kissed her and she had removed her veil in front of him. She could remember the look in his eyes as if it had happened yesterday.

She felt herself flush violently as she realised she was sitting here thinking about this in front of Mother Jesu. She cleared her throat a little awkwardly and looked down at the desk. For her part, Mother Jesu seemed unperturbed by Julienne's embarrassment. Her face remained attentive and sympathetic.

"Did he... coerce you at all?" she asked.

"No," every time someone asked her this she said it more firmly, "I asked him to."

She wasn't sure if it was what she said or the boldness with which she said it which made Mother Jesu's eyes widen just a touch. But she recovered herself quickly and asked;

"Why?"

"Because he had already-..." she did not know how to say it, she could not tell Mother Jesu what he had done for her first and so she said quickly, "Because I wanted him to. So powerfully. In a way that pushed past reason or-... But it wasn't only lust, Mother," she explained quickly, seeing the look on Mother Jesu's face.

"Oh?" she asked.

"I suppose I mean to say that I didn't want to take from him," she explained quietly, "I wanted to care for him, to heal him. I wanted to give myself to him. And I did," she finished quietly, her colour rising again.

Mother was quiet for a few moments.

"Do you still feel that way?" she asked.

"I-... I'm not sure," Julienne replied honestly, "Whenever I've seen him since it's been-... It's been me that we've been more concerned about."

Mother nodded.

"And that is entirely natural," she told her.

They were both quiet for a few moments.

"Mother," Julienne asked after a while, "What am I going to do?"

Mother sat back a little in her chair, considering Julienne at length.

"Do you want me to advise you or to tell you what I know for certain will happen?" she asked.

Julienne considered for a moment. She was not accustomed to the helplessness she presently felt.

"Both."

Mother Jesu gave a sigh, and leant forwards again. After a few moment's contemplation she began:

"When this baby is born, you will have a choice," she told her, "And I will not hear your decision on the issue until the child is born because until then I do not think you will be able to properly make it. You will have to decide whether you are to remain with the order or not. If you were to remain with us," she gave another small sigh, "I would advise that you did not return to live in Poplar. Do you understand why?" she asked carefully.

Julienne nodded.

"Yes," she said simply.

"If you were to do this, I think I can say almost certainly that your baby would be put up for adoption," Mother explained gently.

So that was it. Remaining with the order meant no baby, no Poplar. In all likelihood she would only see her friends again if their paths happened to cross at the Mother House. She thought of Sister Bernadette and her kindness to her. And she would never see Patrick again. Or their child. Her heart felt like it was falling, and swelling and constricting her breathing, sinking into her stomach like lead. She took one deep breath and then another.

"And what would you advise me?" she asked, her voice as level as she could make it.

"I would advise you," Mother Jesu replied, "That whatever I say, the choice is yours to make. But the Lord forgives, Sister," she added very seriously, "He forgives, and he does not frown on love. I could not advise you to tear apart a family that could be whole."

She remembered what Sister Bernadette had said to her on that desolate night in the bathroom; we can be forgiven, with love. Her heart soared at the thought. Patrick, and their baby, and a home- She felt tears in her eyes.

"I will hear your decision when your child has been born," Mother reminded her firmly.

**Please review if you have the time. **


	13. Chapter 13

**This chapter's a little bit different; I hope you like it.**

The days at the Mother House are pleasant enough. Everyone is friendly and sufficiently reserved to be able to exchange pleasantries and not have to discuss anything she'd rather leave alone. She goes for walks around the garden, sometimes alone, sometimes with Mother Jesu, and helps sometimes in the kitchen to cook for the other Sisters. She has time to read and can spend as long on her watercolours as she wants to.

It's the nights that are difficult. Unused to such leisure, she is never tired enough in the evenings. Unhelpfully her pregnancy seems to take its toll on her energies most during the day, and sometimes she finds herself dosing off in her chair in the sitting room. But when she curls up in bed she never seems to be able to sleep properly; her mind becomes alive with all of the thoughts she has pushed aside during the day through watercolours and pleasantries.

At night is the only time she can think about Patrick. Of course, he dwells in her mind through the day as well, but it is only at night that she bows to the inevitable and allows the idea of him to fully invade her consciousness. She remembers admitting to him that she thought of him, in the kitchen at the church hall, the look on his face. It seemed like a lifetime ago.

But in the fourth month of her pregnancy it really starts. She knows it is only her hormones, but knowing the cause does not assuage the effect. Every night she think of them together. She cannot stop herself. She lies in bed, and sees it happening, different details coming back to her each time. She remembers panting into his mouth, him swallowing her breath with his hot, breathy kisses. She remembers his hand on her breast, him kissing her breasts. She remembers him catching her as she crumbled. She aches for him, for his body but also for the feeling of love that he gave her, without having to say it. She thinks if only she had him lying beside her that would be enough- but it wouldn't be enough, nothing would ever be enough now, nothing-...

…**...**

Then the baby starts to move. She is walking in the garden with Mother Jesu when it happens.

"Mother-..." she gasps, her hands going straight to her stomach.

"Are you alright," Mother Jesu asks quickly, a frown of concern creasing her brow.

"Yes," Julienne tells her, a smile spreading slowly across her face, "Yes." 

That night as she lies in bed she feels the baby move again. She lies on her back, one hand on her stomach and goes to sleep contented as the movements gently begin to ease.

…**...**

Of course, she has visitors. She has visitors with a frequency that almost makes her suspicious. No one from Nonnatus does not come at least once; even a disgruntled and tired Sister Monica Joan appears one day out of a cab with Jenny and Cynthia. Grilling Sister Bernadette on the subject on one occasion she manages to ascertain that Chummy's generous personal allowance has contributed to everyone's rail fare, but questioning Chummy on the issue she gets such a flat denial of any involvement that she decides to drop the subject and just enjoy her visitors. They brighten her days immeasurably and she is touched to find that they are coming to see her as often as possible. Sister Bernadette's visits are almost weekly.

"I would not impose so much on Chummy's kindness for anyone else," she unwittingly admits one day as they take a stroll around the garden.

Julienne catches her eye, and she looks contrite for a moment. Then they both smile and say nothing.

…**...**

Then the day comes when she realises she looks ridiculous in a habit. She catches sight of herself in the small mirror. The swell at the waist looks absurd. A pregnant nun. A pregnant woman in nun's clothing. She feels absurd.

So she lifts her suitcase out from under her bed and takes out the first of the neat pile of maternity dresses that Sister Bernadette had found for her. It is white and pale blue with buttons down the front and a skirt that flares out a little and will cover her bump nicely. She smooths her hand over the fabric for a second. Then she takes her veil off, she takes her habit off and puts it on.

She looks at her reflection in the mirror and she pauses for a second. And another, gazing back at the reflection she hardly recognises. Her hair hangs loose and does not seem quite sure about what to do. But somehow she still feels better, her body feels more free, if a little strange.

And then there is a knock at the door. She pauses.

"Come in," she calls softly.

It is Mother Jesu. Her eyes scan Julienne's appearance, quickly, but Julienne still notices, but she does not say anything in either approval or reproach.

"You have a visitor," she tells her.

Julienne nods, though she feels suddenly timid. To her surprise, it is Trixie who walks in, alone. Unlike Mother Jesu, she shows her surprise; her mouth falls open and her eyes distinctly widen.

"Yes," Julienne tells her, a little abashed, once Mother Jesu has gone, "I know I look different. No doubt it will take some getting used to."

She feels almost as if she is apologising, she feels alarmingly self-conscious again and Trixie sees that.

"Sister," she asks her with none of her usual confidence, "Would you like me to do something with your hair?"

It is such a strange question, and it takes Julienne quite by surprise. She does not ask it unkindly or with any kind of disparagement. Once, in an emergency, Julienne had to fetch Cynthia from Trixie's room where the girls were sitting up late into the night doing each other's hair. This is a hand of friendship.

Julienne nods slowly.

"That would be very kind," she tells her.

Without another word, Julienne sits down on the end of the bed and Trixie sits behind her. There is on a hairbrush and an elastic that Julienne uses to keep her hair under her cap, none of the curlers and grips that she supposes Trixie is used to using. But Trixie does not say a word about that. She just brushes her hair straight, asking only if it hurts her back to sit like this. It doesn't. She brushes all of her hair in silence, so it lies down to the middle of her back, brown streaked with a little grey. Trixie draws her hair with supreme ease into a single immaculate plait, held neat but not too tight with the elastic.

Her next visitor, on Monday, is Jenny.

"Trixie sent something for you," she told her, handing her a single thick envelope as she sat down.

Opening the envelope, Julienne found a single ribbon, the same blue as her maternity dress. Seeing Jenny's frown of confusion, she slipped it into the pocket of her cardigan and smiled softly.

…**...**

"Why doesn't Patrick come?" she asks Sister Bernadette one day. She is seven months pregnant and she hasn't seen him since she left Poplar.

Sister Bernadette frowns a little.

"I think he thinks his presence may be unwelcome," she replies after a while.

"Does he want to come?" she asks after a moment, wondering if Sister Bernadette is just trying to spare her feelings.

Sister Bernadette thinks for a moment.

"I think he does," she replied after a moment, "He does not say much," she added, "But he always asks how you are and how the baby is."

"Tell him we're missing him," she told her, a little sulkily. She knew it was not fair to sulk at Sister Bernadette but recently it was all she was feeling capable of. Her size was starting to feel ungainly and the tiredness was catching up with her. She was sleeping full nights out of dire necessity now.

But Sister Bernadette took it in good heart, and smiled rather indulgently. It was a pretty smile and it softened Julienne's temper a little.

"I think he's a little bit frightened of Mother Jesu," Sister Bernadette confided almost mischievously, "I think he fears another reception like the one he got from Sister Evangelina at first."

Julienne smiled too for a moment. Sister Evangelina had certainly been one of her less frequent visitors.

"Has she forgiven him yet?" she asked lightly, and then, her expression faltering a little and her voice suddenly becoming a little less easy to work, "Has she forgiven me?"

Sister Bernadette turned to her, a look of hurt crossing her face.

"Sister Evangelina takes change very badly," she reminded her, "She likes to know where she is with things and where things are with her."

Julienne caught the frown on Bernadette's face.

"I've never entirely understood what she means when she says that either," she confided.

Sister Bernadette grinned for a second and then told her more seriously.

"She has forgiven you, Sister," she assured her, "If she felt there was ever anything to forgive. You gave her a shock, that's all.

They were quiet for a few moments.

"Mother Jesu telephones Dr. Turner," Sister Bernadette admitted at last, "I wasn't supposed to say. She told him he'd be very welcome to visit when the baby's born. I think he's taken that that means "and not before". He's not trying to avoid seeing you, Sister."

Julienne smiled her thanks at her friend's admission.

"I will know not to expect him beforehand, then," she replied gently.

They were quiet for a few moments. And then Julienne reached out and grasped Sister Bernadette's hand.

"Thank you for telling me," she told her.

…**...**

She knows why Mother Jesu asked him to stay away; so that she could make her decision without anyone being swayed. And she supposes she's thankful for it, in a way. But, oh, she misses him, and she knows that does not help the effect her hormones are having on her mood.

"Have you considered," Sister Evangelina asked her, sitting across from her in her room, drinking a cup of tea, "That she's doing you an incredible favour?"

"Of course I have," Julienne replied a little sullenly, her hand resting on her stomach, which, at eight months, is considerably generous, "She won't hear my decision until after the baby is born so that I know for sure that I'm doing the right thing and I won't feel... differently with the baby in my arms. And she doesn't want me to see Patrick in case it-... makes my mind up for me. I know," she sighed heavily, "She's being very kind." 

Sister Evangelina leant forward a little in her chair.

"The point is, I don't think you realise how kind," she told her bluntly, "Yes, she won't let you tell her that you want to stay with the order until you can hold your baby in your arms and still tell her that from the bottom of your heart. But she wouldn't let you tell her sooner that you want to leave the order because then she'd have had to let you go out into the world; there would have been nothing to make her keep you here and look after you and make sure you have your baby safely. She wouldn't let you make your mind up sooner because if you told her you wanted to leave she'd have probably had to send you packing. I know Mother Jesu well," she told her stoutly, putting her teacup down, "She couldn't find it in her heart to send one of our own out into the world to fend for themselves in your condition."

"But I wouldn't have been on my own," Julienne replies, but she does so gently, touched as never before by Mother Jesu's kindness to her.

**Please review if you have the time. **


	14. Chapter 14

**Happy birthday thinkture! **

She goes into labour at two in the morning. She is woken up by her waters breaking. She gathers herself up as best she can and, making her way down the corridor in some discomfort, she taps on Mother Jesu's door. Mother Jesu looks remarkably calm, all things considered, when she tells her what is happening. She considers that she herself probably looked calm on the occasions when this happened, and they were not infrequent. She certainly does not feel calm at the moment. She has heard it said before that, no matter how much experience a person has of childbirth, the process looks remarkably different from this position. Now she appreciates just how different.

Mother Jesu takes hold of her hand and supports her gently in the small of her back, leading her back to her room, murmuring soothing words.

"It's going to be alright, Sister, you're in good hands."

"Will you telephone Poplar?" she asks breathing heavily. They have to stop for a moment as another contraction comes, stronger than the last, but as soon as it is over and she has regained her breath, "Speak to Sister Bernadette she'll know how to-..."

"I will," Mother Jesu assures her firmly, "As soon as we've got you sorted out."

When they get back to Julienne's room, Mother Jesu helps her change out of her sodden nightdress into her clean one and spreads the paper and sheets from the delivery pack in the bedside cabinet out on the bed. The commotion has woken one or two of the other Sisters, and Mother Jesu dispatches them to boil some water and to telephone Nonnatus House.

Julienne lies back down on the bed and Mother Jesu examines her.

"Everything seems to be in order," she remarks lightly as she takes off her gloves, "But we could be in for a long night," she squeezes Julienne's hand, seeing the look on her face, "Everything will be alright. I promise you."

Julienne cannot count the number of times she herself has promised a mother that, with no real power to be able to keep that promise. It was all in the hands of the Lord, now as with every other time. When Mother Jesu leaves her bedside for a few moments, she lets her head fall back against the headboard and frantically prays.

…**...**

Her labour is still slow and her contractions are infrequent. She keeps falling asleep and then being woken again by pain.

But on one occasion when she wakes the increasing pain is taken away by the sight of a familiar face. Sitting at her bedside, blinking benignly down on her in the light of the dawn through the rims of her spectacles is Sister Bernadette. Julienne sits up, wondering madly if she is hallucinating; hysterical with pain. But the pain has faded again and Sister Bernadette is still here.

"Oh, thank God," Julienne murmurs in little more than a sob, "You came. I didn't know if you would. I hoped-..."

They had never discussed it outright, some things that Sister Bernadette had said had hinted that she would try to be there, but Julienne knew that getting ahold of any person at Nonnatus House at an unspecified time was an imprecise art indeed and she hadn't dared to ask. But she's here, and so quickly; she couldn't have dared to hope that she would get here this quickly.

"Did you really think I wouldn't?" she asks, smiling at her.

Unable to say anything else, Julienne reaches out and takes her friends hand, holding on tightly.

"Dr. Turner drove me here," she tells her quietly, "Like a madman," she added, smiling in a way that indicated she was rather glad the trip was over, "We've left Timothy asleep in your room at Nonnatus House, I hope that's alright. He was asleep and Dr. Turner just carried him out of the house into the car."

"How is Patrick?" Julienne asked.

"He's fine," Sister Bernadette replied, "He's helping Mother Jesu with the gas and air cannister. He insisted on bringing our one just in case."

Julienne could not help but give a weary smile at that.

"That man is fixated by gas and air," she remarked wryly. Then, "However," she added, her voice growing suddenly more serious, it frightens her that she can hear the fear in her own voice, as she felt the beginnings of another contraction. "I think by the end of tonight I will share his appreciation."

Sister Bernadette has ahold of her hand once again, and holds on to her, never flinching though Julienne thinks she must be almost breaking her fingers, and does not let go until the contraction has passed.

…**...**

For a lot of the time they are quiet together. Mother Jesu calls in frequently to check on her, but Sister Bernadette never leaves her side. They pray together, and it makes her miss the times when they stood side by side in the chapel, their prayer books in hand. They did it every day, and so many times each day, and now it seems absurd that all she seems to have left of those times is a handful of disconnected memories. There was a solidarity that she had missed, but it is certainly back now. At one point the pain is so bad that the feeling of her Sister's hand in hers is not enough and Sister Bernadette gets up, sitting on the edge of the bed and holding Julienne's shoulders, supporting her as she threatens to keel and crumble with the pain.

It was rare that they would go on a call together and Julienne wonders if she ever really appreciated before now how good a midwife Sister Bernadette is. She knows just when to fetch a cold flannel for her forehead, she knows just what to say. She knows when to ask Mother Jesu to bring the gas and air cannister in. Mother is gone for what feels like an age, and she imagines her talking to Patrick, asking for the cannister. She can imagine the worry on his face as he hands it over and Mother Jesu declines his inevitable offer to carry it upstairs for her.

…**...**

"Do you know what you're going to do?"

She doesn't know how long they've been silent for, but that question would have surprised her no matter what preceded it. She looks at Sister Bernadette curiously and finds the younger nun's expression intent and serious. She can hardly believe that Sister Bernadette dared to ask, Sister Bernadette who wouldn't even as who the father of her child was.

"That's supposed to be a secret," she comments with a wryness that only her tiredness can account for, "Until the baby's here. And the baby is making it very clear it's not ready to hear what I've decided yet."

Sister Bernadette did not react to her disgruntled humour.

"Please," she asked just as seriously as before, "You can tell me. Please," she repeats, more softly, barely louder than a whisper.

Julienne thinks for a moment of what it must be costing Sister Bernadette, with all her reserve, to ask this. She must be nothing short of desperate to know. Julienne considers the best way to tell her.

"Sister," she starts, "This is not going to be easy for any of us-..."

And then pain hits her so badly, and she needs so much gas and air, that by the time she can talk coherently again, she no longer remembers that the question was asked and Sister Bernadette does not dare to ask again.

…**...**

It ends suddenly, but with such pain that she later wonders if she'll ever be able to deliver another baby because she could never in good conscience knowingly ask another woman to push through that. When she hears the shrill cry of her newborn, she lets out a broken sob of relief. Mother Jesu takes the child away for a moment and Julienne is left there exhausted, Sister Bernadette still holding her hand.

And then she is gone and Julienne feels a wearied sense of panic, but before she can say or do anything, she is coming back towards her with the baby in her arms. Her baby. A little girl, with a mop of dark dark hair. She reaches out for her daughter as Sister Bernadette lowers her gently into her arms. And she falls in love, she can feel her heart hammering with love and she wants to cry. She is perfect. When her little eyes blink open, she finds herself staring into deep, familiar brown.

**Please review if you have the time.**


	15. Chapter 15

**Maximal nervousness about this chapter!**

She did not know how long she was asleep for. But when she woke up-... when she woke she saw a face at her bedside that she has not seen for months. In a way, it felt almost as if they had never been apart because he had lingered in her mind with such consistency. On the other hand, it was as if they had not seen each other for years. He was not watching her, his eyes were cast away from her to where, she now saw, the small crib where their daughter lay. Watching him in silence for a moment, she noticed that he was quite as enchanted by the baby as she was, he could not keep his eyes of her, though they seemed to be almost half-closed with lack of sleep.

"Hello, Patrick."

Abruptly, his eyes turned to her, surprised by the arrival of her words, very awake himself now. He was exactly the same as she remembered, not a thing changed; the picture she had of him in her mind preserved him perfectly.

"You're awake," he murmured.

"Yes," she replied, shuffling carefully to sit up, "Just about. Do you know how long I've been asleep for?"

"It's eight o'clock," he told her, "You've been asleep since around two."

"How didn't the baby wake me up?" she asked, in surprise and then alarm, "She's alright, isn't she?"

"Yes, of course she is," he told her soothingly, "She's fine. She's perfect. Sister Bernadette took her out when she woke up and then brought her back when she'd got her off to sleep again. She was quick enough to make sure the crying didn't wake you. She gave her some formula milk. She insisted that we didn't wake you."

"She's rather a marvel, that girl," Julienne remarked, settling back against her pillows.

There was a pause for a moment.

"How are you?" he asked gently.

"Honestly?" she asked, raising her eyebrows slightly, "Sore. And tired, in spite of the six hours."

He smiled wearily.

"I'm sorry," he told her sincerely. And then, a moment later, his voice still as serious and a little strained, "Our daughter is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

She felt herself soften immeasurably, and happiness rushed into her heart just to hear it said aloud, to the point where she almost felt the urge to cry.

"I know she is," she managed to say, fairly levelly.

"She's gorgeous," he told her, seeming to marvel in the words as he, carefully as he could, picked up the baby from the crib and held her, "She looks like you."

She managed to tear her eyes away from the baby for long enough to look at him rather incredulously.

"She has your hair and your eyes," she pointed out rather flatly.

"Yes, but the rest is all you," he insisted, "Look at her little nose. And her mouth. She has your smile."

"Has she smiled?" she asked, surprised, "This soon?"

"Well, no," he conceded, "But I can tell she will when she does. And she definitely gives me that look you do," he added, with an edge to his voice. 

"What look?" she asked, frowning a little.

"_That_ one," he told her, looking squarely at her face, "The one that tells me what a fool you think I am."

She smiled, she could not help it. Oh, it was good to be like this with him again; she could hardly believe that it was this easy, after everything that had happened.

"Can I hold her?" she asked.

"Of course," he replied.

Standing up, he gently handed the baby over, planting a kiss on the top of the baby's head as he did so. Settling the baby gently into Julienne's arms, he lingered a moment, still standing but leaning over so that his head was close to hers. He stayed still for just long enough to give a moment's pause, so that she could suddenly feel a strain of tension beating at an unbearable pitch. And then he leant in and planted a swift single kiss on her forehead too. Her eyes fell closed at the contact and she let out a long breath. By the time she opened her eyes again he had sat back down. Their eyes met and then she looked swiftly away, gazing at their daughter's face.

"She's going to need a name," she pointed out quietly, after long moments.

"Yes," he agreed.

There was another silence.

"Well," she finally had the courage to look up at him, "Did you have any ideas? I was wondering if Bernadette might be nice middle name."

He smiled warmly.

"Yes, that sounds fine. I like it," he sounded enthusiastic, but fell quickly silent.

"What is it?" she asked, frowning a little, "What's the matter?"

"I was wondering how you would feel about calling her Julia?" he asked at last, his face uneasy.

When their eyes met this time, hers a little wide with surprise, they did not seem to be able to tear themselves away from one another. She could hear her own heavy breathing, and emotions- such strong emotions to rise from such a short, simple name- seemed to be rising in her chest.

"Yes, alright," she finally seemed to choke out. She took deep breaths, steadying herself and then said, much more calmly, "That sounds nice. Julia Bernadette Turner."

It was his turn for his eyes to widen in surprise, hearing her use his last name so naturally, and evoking at the same time so many enormous questions, which for months now had been ever more insistently demanding answers.

"Sister-..." he murmured, a look of shock on his face, his mind evidently reeling. "I think we need to talk-... about things. Don't you?"

"Yes, I think we do," she agreed, "Would you like to put Julia back to bed and we'll talk?" her voice softened unstoppably as she said it.

He took the baby carefully from her and settled her back in the crib. He sat back down and they both waited for the other to speak.

"Sister," he told her quietly after a while, still unable to call her anything else, "I know you were not exactly keen on the idea when I brought it up once before, but if you were to remain with the order and put Julia up for adoption I would fight to keep her. I'm sorry," he told her solemnly, looking at the floor, "I know it is against your wishes, but I don't feel that I'd have a choice."

"You don't know how my wishes might have changed since last we spoke," she replied, equally quietly.

His gaze snapped up to her face, sharply, searchingly.

"I can't leave my daughter," she told him simply, "I'm not putting her up for adoption. Nothing in heaven and earth could make me."

He was very quiet.

"What does that mean?" he asked at last, "Mother Jesu told me that if you stayed with the order-..."

"Yes, I know," she cut across him, looking down at the bedspread, "I don't feel I have a choice either. I want more than the religious life," she admitted, " Julia has made me see that, and you have. Most immediately, I want to stay with my daughter at all costs. God will be with me from inside the order or from outside of it."

There was silence as they both absorbed what she had just said.

"I will tell Mother Jesu as soon as she will grant me an interview," she continued calmly, "I think she will accept my decision. I think this is what she would have preferred to have happened."

He nodded gently, looking downwards.

"I suppose I had better tell you," her own eyes fell a little too as she spoke, "My name is Ruth."

A smile crossed his face briefly, and they were quiet again. His eyes watched the bedcovers and he seemed in deep thought.

"Ruth," he spoke her name at last, shakily, testing out its sound, "I want to ask you something."

"Yes, of course," she replied.

"Will you marry me?"

Her silence was caused mainly by how taken aback she was with his sudden question.

"I know I've already offered," he told her quickly, "But that's just it. Then I was _offering_. Now I'm asking you. Ruth, _Ruth, _I _want_ to marry you now."

She was quiet still, her surprise growing as he tried all the more frantically to explain himself.

"I was always ready to give you a home," he told her, "For you and the baby. Now I don't think I could live with myself if I didn't. I want to take care of you, I want to make sure you're always provided for. I need to do that. She's so beautiful," he said, wildly, "She's so like you. I couldn't even think of leaving either of you. I've always respected you, and I wouldn't expect a thing from you in return. I feel responsible for you, but I also feel-..." he stopped, with the air of a man desperately trying to stop himself digging himself into a hole, but at the same time unable to stoop himself from talking, "I've made such a hash of things, but I want to make it right. These last six months, being away from you, I thought I'd go mad. I couldn't," he drew a ragged breath, speaking the sentence that had effectively brought them here, "Stop thinking about you."

He looked up at her quite helplessly. She was not sure if she trusted her own voice, but she knew she had to say this, and so she leant forwards gently, covering his hand, that rested on the bedspread with hers and told him;

"Patrick. I love you."

He let out a sigh of disbelief.

"You've already given me an earthly home," she continued, her voice shaking a little, "You made me feel _such _human love as I have ever known. And everything that you say you've made a hash of only ends up meaning that I'll have more-... More than I could have ever imagined," her eyes were full of tears now, "I've been the same, these past six months, I've yearned for you. And we owe our daughter a home," she finished, just before the tears crept into her voice, "So yes. I'll marry you."

"Oh, Ruth. Ruth, my darling. I love you."

Moving forwards to sit on the edge of the bed, he held her in his arms, kissing her forehead again, and then moving downwards to plant a gentle kiss on her lips.

**Please review if you have the time. **


	16. Chapter 16

**Six weeks later...**

They decided beforehand that it would be a very bad idea for him to carry her over the threshold, joking about it with wry smile as they drove away from Nonnatus House. She did not mind the idea of being carried herself, but that would mean there wouldn't be anyone to hold Julia and on that she really had to put her foot down. He understood perfectly, and she noted with some amusement that he sounded just a fraction relieved.

They drove on in silence. It was getting for evening now, the sky was tinged with light pink and blue.

"Is it too bright for her?" he asked quietly, as they reached the river and the brilliant light of the setting sun filled the car, "Will it wake her up?"

"No," she replied, peering cautiously into the bassinet on her knee, "I think we're alright, she's still asleep."

"She's a very good girl," he remarked happily, "She always seems to drop off easily."

Ruth turned to him and looked at him with an expression of scepticism that Sister Evangelina would have been proud of.

"Poor naïve man," she told him softly, "You just wait until three o'clock tomorrow morning."

He gave a quiet and rather rueful chuckle.

"Three o'clock?" he asked.

"On the dot of," she assured him, "Every night. Her timekeeping is far better than yours." 

He laughed again.

"Well, I'll make you a promise now," he told her, "At three o'clock tomorrow morning, I'll get up. You stay in bed."

She turned to him in surprise.

"You don't have to," she told him gently.

"I want to," he replied, "I don't have to get up tomorrow morning and you've been doing it every night for the past six weeks. You deserve a break."

She wasn't going to argue with that. She smiled gently. Sister Bernadette had offered to take care of Julia at Nonnatus House for tonight, but Ruth had replied that if Julia was at Nonnatus House then she would be there too, and that rather defeated the object. She was not ready to be separated from her daughter yet, and privately she wondered if she ever would be. Gazing down at the bassinet she had resting on her knee, over the pale blue suit she had been married in, she thought that if she could look at Julia all day day she would. She was yet to be convinced by Patrick's insistence that she looked so much like her; to her she was all her father, punctuality excepted. She still couldn't believe how beautiful she was.

"What's the matter?" he asked, detecting an edge to her silence.

She let out a short sigh.

"Nothing," she replied, "Really, it's nothing."

"I believed you the first time you said it." 

She gave him a half-amused look.

"I never thought things would end up this way," she admitted at last.

"You're not having second thoughts are you, because if you are it would have been better to say before we signed the register."

His tone told her that he was only half joking.

"No, Patrick. Of course I'm not having second thoughts," she assured him, "I can't imagine loving anyone more than I love you and Julia, and the way I'm going to love Timothy when we're all together. It's just-..." she did not know how to say it, "I never even thought I'd get married. Especially not in blue. It doesn't mean I'm not incredibly glad I did. Can you understand that?"

There was a moment's pause.

"Of course I can," he replied, "I'm incredibly glad as well."

They had reached his house. Stopping the car, he got her suitcase out of the boot and then held on to Julia for a moment so she could get out of the car.

"Welcome home, Mrs Turner," he told her, putting his arm around her waist, giving her a kiss on the cheek as he carefully handed the baby back to her so that he could take her case.

He helped her over the threshold all the same.

"Where can I put her down?" she asked.

"I'll show you her little room," he told her, "Come on."

He led her up the stairs. Across the corridor from their room was Timothy's room- he was spending the night with his grandparents- but there was another smaller bedroom beside the one that was now theirs. He opened the door, standing back a little so that she could see inside.

"Oh, Patrick."

"Fred helped me," he told her, "And the girls made the quilt and spruced up the curtains as a present for her."

"Yes, but even so." 

She knew he had spent the time since she had told him about her decision finding and buying all the things they would need, but she didn't realise how much he had done. The room was freshly painted in a light pink and the crib that stood in the middle with a neatly folded quilt looked like it had been given another coat too. The window sill was packed with toys, and there was even little bookshelf fixed to the wall.

"For her medical journals," he told her, seeing her eye linger on it for a moment, "How do you think Timothy learned to read?" 

She smiled at him, nearly grinning like an idiot at her husband's idiocy, and he smiled back, looking a little abashed.

"Does she need changing?" he asked.

"No, she's still asleep," she replied, "Anyway, Sister Evangelina changed her a little while ago."

"Sister Evangelina?" he asked, surprised.

"Yes," she replied, smiling, "I think Julia's quite won her over at last."

"I can't say I'm surprised," he replied.

"We'd best get her settled," she told him, putting the bassinet gently down on the table and lifting Julia out of it.

She placed her carefully in the crib, making sure the quilt was not loose around her, and gently brushed the growing dark hair away from her face.

"Goodnight, my love," she whispered quietly, still bent over the crib.

When she straightened up, she saw that he was watching her intently, and smiling, looking her with so much love. 

"You're so good at this," he told her.

"Well, I have mothered most of the children in Poplar at one time or another," she reminded him lightly, "And now, when it's my own child-..." she could hardly explain it, "I love her so much. It isn't a question of being good at it- but still, I'm glad you think I am. It's easy, because I love her. Especially when she's this quiet," she added with a smile.

He chuckled quietly. He gave one last infinitely warm look at the crib and then reached out, taking her hand, asking, "Do you want to go downstairs for a little while? Maybe have a nightcap?"

"Yes, alright. I'd like that."

Once they were downstairs and he had brought her a drink he asked carefully, sitting beside her on the settee.

"Are you really alright with us being here? In Poplar, I mean? What you said-..."

She gave a small sigh, looking down into her glass of whiskey.

"Time will tell, I suppose," she concluded, "Everyone at Nonnatus seems to have accepted what has happened. It's just-..."

"The rest of Poplar?" he ventured.

"Yes," she admitted, "I don't know. I feel like I'm being foolish. Am I? Is it unreasonable of me to worry that I might be doing more harm than good by staying?"

"No, it isn't unreasonable," he assured her, "Not at all. And I know this may be difficult for the community as a whole to accept. What matters is that you feel comfortable being here, because if you don't we'll go."

"Really?" she asked.

He nodded firmly. There was a pause.

"I don't want to leave," she said after a while, "I want things to work here, because there isn't just me to think about. You know your practice here and Timothy is happy at school. I couldn't make you both leave that. And when I'm ready to work again, and I know that won't be for a long time yet, I want to do what I love doing and to do it here. I want to be brave," she finished weakly.

He reached forwards, taking her hand in his and holding on tight.

"Then that's what we'll be," he resolved, "But if you change your mind, just-..."

"Say the word-...?" she ventured.

He smiled.

"Yes."

For a moment, they sat facing each other, holding onto each other's hands. Then, carefully, he leant forwards and captured her lips, so softly, kissing her slowly. The aching she had felt for him over the past few months rose inside her again, but differently, she was inwardly aching with the beauty of this, with the love she felt him, with her wondrous disbelief that he was here, he was with her, and kissing her.

They broke apart a little breathlessly.

"I have something for you," he told her, quickly standing up and going to the sideboard.

"What?" she asked.

He handed her a very thin square parcel wrapped in brown paper.

"A wedding present," he replied.

"You didn't have to," she told him, "You've done so much. I didn't know-..."

"Don't worry," he told her sitting back down beside her, planting the softest of placatory kisses on her temple, "You have given me the most beautiful daughter in the world, there's nothing more you need to give me. And I wanted to give you this," he nudged her gently with his elbow, "Open it."

"Alright," she replied.

As a nun, she was unused to presents, even having possessions of her own. Carefully, she removed the paper and saw what was inside. A record; _In the Still of the Nite _by The Five Satins. She met his eyes, biting her lip to hold back her ridiculous smile.

"Patrick," she murmured gently.

"Will you dance with me?" he asked her, holding out his hand.

"Yes, alright," she laughed, "If you're sure you can cope with it."

He smiled back.

"I'll try," he assured her, helping her up.

Quickly setting up the gramophone in the corner, he walked back towards her as the first bars of music started. He simply did not stop walking until he had embraced her, raising her a little as his arms took hold of her body so that he held her, his arms meeting snugly around her back. She let out a contented sigh at the closeness, her own arms reaching around his neck, her head resting beside his as they danced, slowly, listening to the music, to the words.

**In the still of the night,**

**I held you, held you tight, **

**Because I love, love you so,**

**Promise I'll never let you go  
In the still of the night.**

She was completely absorbed by him, the feeling of his body next to her, his arms around her. This was what she had wanted. Everything she had been looking for in the darkest corners of her heart. Him.

"I love you, Patrick," she murmured gently.

He leant back a little, looking at her with his dark eyes.

"I love you too," he told her in reply, his voice a little hoarse with longing. She was reminded of something Sister Monica Joan had said to her that afternoon- with such a wicked smile on her face as could scarcely be believed- _"The blood of youth burns with no such excess, As gravity's revolt to wantonness."_ She couldn't have been more right, if the look in his eyes was anything to go by.

She felt herself sigh against his lips as he met her for another heart-rending kiss.

**End.**

**Please review if you have the time. **


	17. Chapter 17

**Hello, yes it's me writing some more of this story again. I know it's gone on crazily so far, well now there's going to be a part three, because it's fun to write and for thinkture. This is set maybe half a year after part two.**

**Part Three**

She's never known human love before. She only realises that now, but now that she has she knows it with such forceful clarity that it almost knocks her off her feet. She's never felt like this before. He fills, and has created, a void that no other man even made her aware of. How did she ever live without this? The fact that it came to be like this between them was a colossal accident, really. But before they had both been looking, they must have been... even without knowing it. The whole of this could not have been accidental; it is so complete.

They are sitting together at the dinner table, with only the small table lamp on. It is getting on for midnight and he has only recently come back in from work, but she waited up for him after putting Julia, and later Timothy, to bed.

"What are you thinking?" he asks her.

She turns her head to him. She hadn't realised that he had finished eating.

"Nothing," she replied gently, "Nothing to bother yourself with." There is a second's pause. "You look tired, darling," she tells him quietly.

His hand reaches out, covers hers on the table.

"I am," he replies patiently, "But not too tired to hear what you're thinking about."

Their eyes meet and she feels her expression mellow unstoppably out of thoughtfulness and concern and into something else entirely.

"I was thinking that I've never been happier than this," she tells him sincerely.

They look at each other for long moments. His thumb strokes instinctively back and forth over her knuckle. He is tired and she is thoughtful and neither of them wants to move.

"What time is it?" he asks her at last. He could have looked at his own wrist, but that would have meant they would no longer be touching, and she understands that instinctively. She too has always liked being anchored.

She checks her watch.

"Twenty to twelve."

He lets out a long sigh.

"Three hours and twenty minutes until madam wakes up and wants her bottle," he remarks ruefully.

"I'll get up tonight," she tells him, "You do it every night and it's wearing you out. Let me."

"I don't mind that," he tells her, "Three o'clock in the morning is the only time I always know I'm going to be seeing my daughter. It's just that in three hours and twenty minutes I'll have to get out of bed, and leave you," His thumb stills and his fingers curl over hers and into her fist, holding her hand "And that is not a prospect I relish, no matter which of us it is that actually leaves."

There is a pause.

"Come on," she squeezes his hand at last, "Let's make the most of that time then."

…**...**

He enthrals her. She has never found a man beautiful before, she has never looked with an eye to.

She found she barely remembered his body from the first time they made love. What she remembered was a series of flitting impressions, which haunted her through her pregnancy and their separation, the impression of his warmth, the solidness of his body beside hers. She had forgotten the softness of the dark hair on his chest. She had forgotten the feeling on his tongue in her mouth, forgotten the way it felt to have his hands on her. But when they were together again, it all came flooding blissfully back.

She loves his eyes. His eyes are their daughter's eyes; exactly the same, but they look at her so differently. She could watch them forever.

It all came flooding back as he kissed her on their wedding night, as they fell together onto the settee. And every time since. She loves him so much.

…**...**

She pushes his untidy hair away from his face as his head hits the pillow beside hers. She loves the comfort of his body beside her in bed at night, it makes her sleep better, she cannot think how she ever slept alone. He closes his eyes, leans his head into her hand, presses his hand gently over hers, covering her skin with his and holding her there, kisses the inside of her wrist. Their eyes meet. She knows what he is thinking.

"You're tired," she reminds him quietly, trying to keep her voice steady, knowing one of them has to be sensible on this occasion and not give in.

"And we're making the most of our time," he returns, a devious smile on the edge of his lips.

She cannot help but smile back as he pushes her own words back at her, shaking her head at him a little. He takes advantage of her closing her eyes for a second to lean in and kiss her. She gasps a little in surprise. Opening her eyes, she looks straight at him.

"Ruth," he murmurs.

She cannot help but kiss him in return. He enthrals her.

They make love quickly, quietly, but still passionately. He rolls her gently onto her back, holding her hands. His lips sink down to meet hers, to latch onto her collarbone. He pushes her nightdress up, helps her sit up for a moment to help her out of it. They lie back down, her naked underneath him.

She had worried that he wouldn't want her like this any more. Her body had changed, her breasts were heavier and her waist was no longer as narrow as it had been. But he had made it plain that he adored her new curves, kissing his way down her hips.

He holds her hips in his hands now, cradling her, brushing against her hipbones with his thumbs as he enters her gently. She lets out a quiet groan. He captures her lips, kissing her softly, moving smoothly inside her as he does so. She groans again but the sound is swallowed by his lips.

"Patrick," she murmurs breathlessly as he withdraws again, "Darling."

He kisses her throat fervently.

"I know, darling, I know."

…**...**

They lie awake afterwards. His body aligns with hers, cradling against her back, his arm hugging her waist and his face resting against her untidy hair.

"I missed you so much," she tells him quietly, almost thinking aloud but knowing also that she wanted him to hear.

"When?" he asks in reply.

"When I was pregnant," she explains to him, "I would lie in my bed in that little room at the Mother House and wish you were there with me. And wish we could be together like this."

"I missed you too," he replies after a moment, "While you were there. I used to worry about you, even though I knew you were in good hands. And every time someone from Nonnatus went to visit you I'd wonder if I dared go with them. I never worked up the nerve," he told her quietly.

"I'm not surprised," she replied gently, rubbing his arm consolingly, "Anyway, I have you now. And we're happy, aren't we? That's more than I dared even to hope for then."

She felt his smile in the dark against her face.

"We're very happy," he agreed.

"Now go to sleep," she insists, "I hope you haven't forgotten, we're going to Timothy's concert after school tomorrow and we both have to be awake. And Julia is set to go off in less than an hour, so _sleep_."

"Yes, darling," he tells her, kissing her cheek, "Goodnight."

…**...**

She loves Patrick's presence beside her at night, but sometimes she thinks that it would be more constructive if they had separate bedrooms. Or in this case at least separate rooms to dress in.

"We're going to be late," she tells him warningly, sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning forwards and trying to put her stockings on, while he seems far more interested in the patch of skin at the base of her neck. He pushes her loose hair forwards over her shoulder so he can examine it better, causing her to sigh when it falls down towards her thigh and nearly gets caught in her stockings.

"We're always late," he replies, "No one minds any more."

"_You're_ always late," she reminds him, "And I'll thank you to speak for yourself, Dr. Turner."

"You're a part of me," he replies lazily into her skin, "You're late in spirit when I'm late, Mrs Turner."

She is hard-pressed not to laugh and cannot help but roll her eyes at his ridiculous logic.

"One person minds very much when we're late for him; Timothy will be furious with us if we miss this concert," she tells him firmly. She is trying not to think about the kisses trailing slowly from the top of her spine to the top of her bra.

She has to stand up in order to escape his fingers that are beginning to work on the hooks under the black lace. Turning back towards him, she gives him an attempt at a very stern look. 

"That is staying on, thank you very much," she informs him, a mock frown on her brow and one hand on her bare hip.

She has to look at the top of his head to stop herself reacting to the look in his eye as he sees her standing there with so little on.

"Go and check that there's a hat there for Julia to wear," she tells him firmly, "I don't want her to catch cold."

He still, she sees a moment later when he does not move, has a look in his eye- a little different now, one that she cannot quite explain. He looks almost awed for a second. She parts her lips, about to ask for an explanation.

"I will in a second," he promises her, his voice no longer light and joking but altogether serious, and soft, "But Ruth," and to her surprise he moves off the bed and drops to his knees on the floor in front of her, "You're so beautiful, Ruth. You're... divine."

He reaches out, touching the skin of her stomach, wrapping an arm tenderly around her hips.

"Patrick," she tells him warningly.

But when he looks up at her the look in his eyes is still there. He seems genuinely enthralled by her as she is with him. He plants a single kiss on the base of her stomach, nuzzling into her skin.

"Darling," he whispers, "Let's have another baby."

Her hand, stroking him hair gently now, stills, and all thoughts of hurrying up are banished from her mind.

"What?" she asks him, a little sharply, looking down at him intently.

He looks back up at her.

"I mean it," he replies softly, "You're so beautiful, I love you so much, I want to have another baby with you. But," he adds quickly, frowning up at her, trying to read the look of surprise on her face, "Of course, only if you want to. I would never-... of course." 

They stay still like that, him on his knees before her, her holding on to his head and his hair, for what feels like a long time, neither of them saying anything, just looking.

They are both startled by a knock on the door and Timothy's voice from the other side.

"Mum, Dad, we're going to be late!"

"Sorry, darling," Ruth calls back, "Your father will be out now, and just give me another minute."

She helps him up quickly.

"We'll talk about this later," she tells him in a quiet voice, "But- oh but Patrick," she is unable to keep the smile out of her voice, "I would like to."

"Really?" he asks happily.

She smooths her hand gently over his cleanly shaven face, nodding.

"Yes," she tells him, "Now, for goodness sakes go and tell Timothy we're sorry and make sure you have Julia's hat."

**Please review if you have the time.**


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